The Black Wizard
by Hi Pot And News
Summary: Fanfic of Azraeos's original fic. Fem!Harry. Harry, through the selection of the Valar, is plucked from her home world and dropped in Middle Earth to complete a task that will ultimately help the Fellowship save Middle Earth. Starts post Fifth year and near the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring movie.
1. The Mysterious Tapping Noise

**General disclaimer:**I don't own any part of Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings.

It should go without saying that any recognizable idea doesn't belong to me. Parts of either story may be paraphrased within.

**PLEASE NOTE:** This is basically a fanfic of a fanfic. I don't want anyone coming around and screaming plagiarism at me when fanfics often use chunks of the original story, though I admit, I'll been using lots of chunks. Just re-read that disclaimer up there, I acknowledge that I don't own anything recognizable.

I was originally going to continue from where The Black Wizard by Azraeos dropped off but then I wanted to play beta since the first few chapters were kind rough and in the end, I decided I'd pick it up and give it my own spin. I recommend going to read the original by Azraeos if you don't like this story since I'm planning on making it significantly different (Or not, depending on your definition of 'significant'; remember I'll be borrowing heavily from the original). In fact, even if you _do _like this story, go read the original; it's freaking awesome even though it is incomplete.

Also, My main fandom is Harry Potter and I haven't the read the LoTR books or seen the movies in quite a while, so I preemptively beg for forgiveness for the canonical errors I will inevitably make and the heavy usage of Azraeos original writing – most of the difference in the story will come from Harry's reactions, not the situations the characters will be in; if Harry is not directly involved in what's happening, it will be left exactly the way Azraeos wrote it.

P.S. This is Fem!Harry because I can barely understand my own gender let alone guys.

**Chapter One: The Mysterious Tapping Sound**

It was a dreary July day at Number 4 Private Drive. Not to say that it wasn't usually unpleasant – it was normally boring and depressingly ordinary – but this particular day was increasingly dreary. This was in part because the Dursleys were in a remarkably nasty mood, which was taken out on Harry, and also because it was raining cats and dogs, which meant Harry couldn't go outside to get away from them even for a few hours. All in all, it made for a most unpleasant morning so far, and looked to continue into an even more horrid afternoon.

She was lying on her back on the rickety cot with her hands folded beneath her head, staring up at the whitewash ceiling. This was the position she had assumed every day for three weeks straight when she first returned to Privet Drive that summer. When not doing whatever frivolous chores her aunt assigned her, she was holed up in her room, agonizing over the awful end of the past school year.

After her furious fit in the Headmaster's office, Harry was all raged out. When she had the chance to think back on it, her anger frightened her. It made her brash, irrational, the very same trait that had her rushing forward and getting Sirius killed. It had her violently destroying what were clearly valuable possessions of Professor Dumbledore's when she just couldn't hold herself back anymore. Irrational and destructive; that reminded her too much of Voldemort for her peace of mind.

It was only after Moody of all people had unceremoniously grumped his way into her room one day – Dudley, oddly enough, standing hesitantly behind him – and gave her a firm shaking, did she crawl back out from her misery. Mad-Eye gave her a proper talking to, going on about the uselessness of moping, how she should realize how much harm she was doing to herself if _the Dursleys _had noticed, and how she should cheer up since the Ministry – in response to the confirmed return of Voldemort – had made an amendment to the under-age magic laws, lowering the age limit to fifteen instead of seventeen. He then tossed what looked like a wind-up cat toy at her, barked, "practice your aim!," and stomped off without a backward glance.

That last bit of at the end of the lecture had perked her right up, almost making her feel guilty of how elated she was when she was just so recently miserable.

Harry had then thrown herself into practicing her magic within the relative comfort of her room. Her aunt and uncle had turned a disturbing shade of white when Harry had gleefully told them of the new laws. Vowing to herself be less angry and vindictive, she took pity on them and placed silencing charms on her door, window, and walls so they could delude themselves into believing nothing had actually changed. All the same, she took to doing the indoor chores with Gertrude's Grimoire of House-witchery in one hand when the Dursleys weren't around.

It was the little things like that that had her steadily returning to her normal self. She received letters from her friends, especially Ron, going on how they were so relieved she was starting to feel better again and mentioning what their current favourite spells were and how to do them in case she wanted more spells to play with.

"Isn't it wonderful how much further along we can learn now that we can practice magic at home?" Hermione had squealed in a letter she had charmed to read the contents of the missive out-loud, much like a Howler but without the shouting. It was like Hermione was sitting right next to her, talking. "I found this marvellous charm in Enchantments for the Impaired and Incapacitated just this morning!

'Oh, Harry, you _must _give it a try; I stuck a copy of the instructions in the anthology maker I sent as well. It's got this rather odd set of movements, the most difficult I've ever done, so it'll be great practice. Any defensive spell with awkward movements will seem more simple afterward. I know _I _feel the spells in Standard Book of Spells, volume 6 are easier now."

So practice, Harry did. After merging all her old school books – that anthology maker was really something else, she'd never misplace a textbook again! – she skimmed through the text, looking for useful spells she might have missed before. She even pulled a Hermione by owl-ordering the seventh year set in advance to look over while she went through the various little spells she was picking up from whomever was writing her that day. Anything to distract her from wallowing again.

At the moment, while she was stretched out on her bed and staring at the ceiling, Harry desperately wanted to go outside. It figured that on the day she really fancied herself a nice, long walk, it would be pouring down like it would go on for forty days and forty nights. Maybe she ought to send a letter off to Hermione for a spell to build an ark if it came down to it.

Dimly, she noticed that at some point or other, someone had plastered a hole up in that ugly ceiling. The paint looked less white and more drab in that spot. Probably a result of an accident involving Dudley and his old – now mangled – toy musket. Harry was about to lean over to pry apart the loose floorboard under the bed, when she heard a tapping sound. Immediately, she looked towards the window, assuming it was an owl delivering a letter.

There was nothing there.

Confused, Harry looked about her room, curious to find the source of the noise, but to her frustration, she couldn't pinpoint its location. She cocked her head to the side, trying to listen to the direction it was coming from. The only clue she received was that it seemed somewhat hollowed, as though whatever it was, was being tapped from inside something. Like a cupboard or a wardrobe.

Tap-tap. Tap.

Harry strode towards her wardrobe and yanked it open, half expecting Dobby to fall out and tell her that they were playing hide-and-seek, but there was nothing there beyond her hung-up clothes. Maybe Dudley was learning Morse code?

TAP. Tappitytap. Tap. Tap.

The noise continued on for quite a good bit of time before it gradually died away.

Harry was quite certain that, whatever the sound was, it was most likely of a magical nature; her luck over the years would hardly allow it to be of any other origin. On the off chance that it _was _Dudley suddenly deciding to learn Morse code, his attention span wouldn't have allowed him more than five minutes at it before he discarded it for another venture and that thing had gone on for at least twenty. In conclusion, it was either a magical creature or some type of magical object.

Perhaps it was her old pocket sneakoscope? Perhaps after a few years the magic runs out of the thing and it starts tapping to get your attention so you could recharge it? Like a magical battery, maybe. Somehow, Harry found it hard to convince herself.

Another hour passed.

Harry spent the time reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood, the ABC's, the times table, reading her Divination books of all things, and whistling a tune that she made up on the spot consisting of six notes in various placements. It was only when she was contemplating singing the Greek alphabet to the tune of 'Joy to the World' that Harry realized the sun had peeked through the cloud cover.

It was no longer raining!

Resisting the urge to whoop like an idiot, Harry quickly donned a pullover that was previously draped over the back of her desk chair. Just before bounding out of the room, she doubled back to grab the umbrella she remembered seeing shoved at the back of the closet as well. Couldn't hurt to be prepared after all. Harry went down the stairs as fast as she could without sounding like an elephant, and just as quickly went back up them again.

Wouldn't do to forget her wand.

Now armed for battled against Mother Nature, as well as any dark wizards that could be lurking about, Harry stepped across the threshold of Number 4 and briskly walked out. Sweet freedom at last!

As she rounded the corner, she took a moment to fluff her feathery pageboy hair in the moist air and take a good sniff. It smelled fresh and dewy and English. The soggy grass beneath her sneakers only served to provide Harry's nose with a more natural scent. Jarringly, she was reminded of Hogwarts. Which was rather odd, as Private Drive had never done _that_ before. There was nothing artificial about Hogwarts. No pollution, no muck, only nature and magic, and Harry found it surprising that the after smell of rain should make her feel that way.

Mentally giving a shrug, she ambled down Private Drive and into Magnolia Crescent. She only remembered when he got there that this was the very street where she'd first met Sirius.

_Sirius_.

Ruffling her hair again and rubbing her face to clear her mind of any unpleasant memories that were fast clogging up, Harry turned towards her favourite swing in the park, the one she always went to sit and think in. It didn't occur to her that the swing might still be wet from the rain, and that her bottom would be soaked to freezing if she sat on it. Well, at least that's what _would _have happened, if a tapping noise didn't distract her.

TAP. Taptaptap. Tap. TAP.

_There it is again! _

Harry froze in mid-step. It was louder this time. A _lot_ louder. Amplified almost. Almost like it was tagged by a _Sonorus. _

TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!

Harry spun around. She was sure she'd heard the sound right behind her. She peered at the empty space warily, not seeing or sensing anything. It could be someone with an invisibility cloak, she supposed, but she wasn't certain. Just to be sure, though, Harry rushed forward at the empty air, hoping that if anyone _was_ under an invisibility disguise, they would be too surprised to move out of the way, and so Harry would run into them.

There was nothing there.

Harry stood with an arm outstretched in front of her, feeling a bit stupid.

_'Of course it isn't someone with an invisibility cloak,' _She thought to herself, still peering about nervously_. 'What sort of person can make a sound like that?'_

Maybe it wasn't a person?

More than a little jumpy at this line of thought, Harry tried listening to the direction of the noise, but this time it seemed impossible to find its location, let alone its source. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, it was so loud. She wondered why no one was sticking their heads out of their windows to investigate. It was what the residents of Little Whinging seemed to be good at, spying. Why was no one else trying to find it?

Then it hit her! What if she was the only one who could hear it? It would certainly explain why the Dursley's hadn't complained about the noise when it first started up. They couldn't hear it. Maybe only wizards could hear it? Maybe it was a similar sort of thing with the entrance at the Leaky Cauldron, where wizards could see it but muggles couldn't.

But what was it?

Harry noticed what it was, was getting progressively faster. In fact, it was now so fast that it almost sounded like one continuous drone. And on top of that, a wind had picked up. The sort of wind that came just before –

_Crack! Shhhhhhhhhhhh!_

Wonderful.

It was raining again.

In fact, it was _pouring _again.

Harry considered putting up her umbrella but decided against it. It was now raining so hard, with the wind whipping around so much, that Harry's clothes were immediately soaked through and she could hardly see anything through her rain-splatter glasses. She considered putting a water-repelling charm on her glasses but immediately tossed the idea; she was in a place were muggles could see so it would still be illegal.

Harry kept on ear on the noise, which now sounded more like one long perpetual moan. Her ears her beginning to really hurt. It was like standing right next to an amplifier with metal music blasting away. It was as though the sound was right in her ears. She wouldn't be surprised if they started bleeding soon.

Harry dropped the umbrella, abandoning any pretense of caring about getting wet, and sank to her knees in agony, clasping her hands over his throbbing eardrums. It did nothing to lessen the intensity of the sound! It was like whatever it was, was inside her!

She cried out in pain. Harry didn't know how long it had been since she fell, but she wished and pleaded and begged for it to stop.

And suddenly, miraculously, it did.

Hesitantly, Harry released her grip from her ears and brought her hands to push herself up into a sitting position. Her breathing was shallow and wheezy; she must look like a drowned rat.

She took a moment to catch her breath when something off caught her attention. The wind was still blowing, making the swings fail about on the normally squeaky chains but Harry couldn't hear anything. Not the heavy rainfall, nor the sound of the wind, nor the rumble of lightening in the distance. Nothing! It was like someone had just turned the sound off of the world.

Harry looked about with renewed misery. She could only hope this was only temporary and that Madame Pomfrey could fix it when she returned to Hogwarts.

And then, something touched her shoulder.

Harry cried out in surprise, jumped up and twirled around, whipping her wand out of her pocket as she did so.

Standing in front of her was Remus, a look of concern on his lined face, his hands held up in a sign of non-aggression. Just a bit behind him was Tonks, who looked equally concerned and a bit wary. His mouth made the motions of speech but to Harry's dismay, she couldn't hear anything.

"Remus?" she tried. She could feel her vocal cords vibrating but she still couldn't hear anything.

Remus appeared to speak again, Tonks seeming to add in something as well, but Harry could only shake her head in frustration.

"I can't hear anything!" she said, pointing to her ear, pretty sure she had spoken a bit more loudly than socially acceptable. She hoped she didn't sound as desperate and hysterical as she felt.

Remus frowned, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Tonks looked bewildered. Remus tried communicating again, this time with hand gestures. Eventually, Harry discerned that he was trying to tell her to put her wand away. She hadn't even notice that she had practically stuck it in the man's eyeball.

Harry nodded, and was just about to pocket it when she had a sudden suspicion. What if they were Death Eaters on Polyjuice?

"What's my Patronus form?" she asked suspiciously.

Remus smiled and quite distinctly mouthed, "Prongs."

Harry sighed in relief and pocketed her wand. Just as she was pushing off of the ground, the sound started up again, even more loudly and agonizingly than before. She screamed at the sudden pain, and roughly fell back to the ground, not even trying to block her ears this time. She just let the scream rip out of her.

It was as if someone took a knife and shove it into her ear canal! Just before she slipped into darkness, she registered Remus' and Tonks' looks of shock and panic as they bent over him. Her last thought was, '_I guess I'm not deaf after all_.'


	2. When Lightning Strikes

**Chapter Two: When Lightening Strikes**

"Calm down, dear boy," Dumbledore implored, laying a soothing hand on Remus' tense shoulder. "She's fine now, just a bit worn out. Madame Pomfrey assured me that Harry will be completely fit to move about again the moment she wakes. Now, can you tell me what happened? From the beginning, if you don't mind."

Remus, Tonks and Dumbledore made an odd trio as they were gathered around the hospital bed of the unconscious Girl Who Lived. The former pair had arrived at the school in a state of high agitation, Remus especially. They had pounded through the halls, Harry slumped within the werewolf's arms, paying no mind to the startled portraits left in their wake that had rushed off to inform the Headmaster of their arrival.

Now the Hospital Wing was filled with an oppressive air. Harry looked small and fragile as she laid bundled up on the cot that had unofficially been declared hers. She looked almost sickly under the flashes of lightning that lit up the sky at random intervals, the only warning of their presence being forewarned but the rumble and crackle of thunder. The rain had yet to stop pouring since Harry and her rescuers had arrived at Hogwarts.

Remus took a deep breath. "Alright. Tonks and I were positioned in our places. I was sitting on the wall outside Harry's house and Tonks was standing across the street next to a car." Dumbledore nodded. He managed to imply with that single gesture that he understood what Remus was saying, and also to urge him to continue. A typical Dumbledorish mannerism. "Then Harry came out of her house, walking towards Magnolia Crescent, and we followed her."

Tonks continued, "She started acting kind of odd." She looked to Remus and he nodded in agreement. "She started looking a bit agitated not two minutes into the walk. The weirdest part was in the park when she just stopped in mid-stride and started looking around as if looking for something even though there was no one else around. Then she suddenly ran in forward with her arms outstretched in front of her, like she was trying to catch something."

"Hmmm." Dumbledore stated, and Tonks and Remus looked towards him, searching his face for any tells.

"You know something, Albus." Remus stated.

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "I don't presume to know anything. But I could suppose that Harry might have heard a noise or something of the like that compelled her to assume that a potential danger was nearby. Hidden under an invisibility cloak perhaps." Dawning looks appeared on the two younger wizard's faces. "And then? Was whatever it was that Harry was looking for caused her to collapse?" Dumbledore prompted.

"Right, right. It wasn't, actually," said Remus. "Anyway, it started raining rather heavily; it was a bloody gale out there! I could barely see for the cloak was sticking to my face – "

"Knew we should've stuck water-repelling charms on them earlier," Tonks interrupted, grumbling.

"Ahem," Dumbledore coughed, eyes twinkling.

Tonks flushed. "Right. Sorry Remus."

"Any_way_," Remus stressed, with a half-hearted look of admonishment in Tonks' direction. "It was pouring by the buckets but Harry just stood there, still looking around. I see now that she must have been looking for someone but at the time I had no idea what was going on. What could have been so out of the ordinary at a regular muggle park?"

"Certainly not three wizards, two of which were under invisibility cloaks," Dumbledore said, a crinkle in the corner of his eyes. Remus grinned sheepishly and Tonks sniggered.

"Yes, of course. As I was saying, er, after looking warily around the park, she clutched her ears as if she was in pain. It must have been a considerable amount of pain since she dropped to her knees and cried out. That was when Tonks and I reached her. Harry seemed to have gotten a hold of herself though and stopped screaming already. I grabbed her shoulder and she – "

"She went completely mental, that's what! Jumped around faster than I'd've thought she could, and had her wand pointed at us faster than a tic. Nearly poked Remus's eye out. You should have seen her face, Professor, she looked . . ."

Dumbledore's eyes grew apprehensive. "What do you mean, Nymphadora?"

"Well, she looked so scared."

"Terrified more like." Remus amended.

"Then what happened?"

"We tried telling her to put her wand down," Tonks continued. "but she told us she couldn't hear anything."

Dumbledore's entire countenance grew wary. "You say she couldn't hear anything?"

"Yes." Remus said. "Whatever could have caused that, though?"

The headmaster didn't answer for a while, allowing the build of tension and suspense to accumulate among his younger Order members. Nevertheless, when he finally did provide an answer, it was decidedly anti-climatic: "I haven't the slightest idea." Dumbledore chose to ignore the looks of unamusement on his younger colleague's faces, "and then?"

"We did a security question" Tonks continued, placing placing her hands on her hips, and looking uncomfortable. "but then, after she realised we weren't Death Eaters and put her wand away, she fell to the ground and started screaming again! I would've sworn on my magic that she was being held under the Cruciatus if I wasn't standing right in front of her. It was just horrible, sir!"

"And then she lost consciousness." Dumbledore guessed.

"Yes," Tonks and Remus answered as one.

"Hmm. Quite the conundrum. I will have to think further on this."

"Albus, you don't think it's anything to do with Voldemort do you?"

"I do not believe so. While I'm sure he would delight in Harry's pain and lack of hearing, that is not reason enough to go through the trouble of long-distance magic that would have to be dreadfully overpowered to reach through the wards on Privet Drive. And Severus has not reported any plans involving incapacitating Harry in the near future.

"Nevertheless, I will stew on this dilemma. Hopefully Harry can tell us something when she awakes. In the meantime, why don't the two of you stay and watch over her. After all, you are still on Harry duty, you know."

The young wizards blinked. "Er, of course, sir," said Tonks, puzzling over the abrupt end of conversation.

"Well, I must be going then. Good day to you Remus, Nymphadora." He nodded cordially to each in turn and swept out of the hospital wing, leaving behind two frustrated, yet oddly relieved wizards in his wake.

Dumbledore allowed the pleasant expression on his face to slip away as soon as the door to the hospital wing was closed. Instead he adopted one of overwhelming worry; an expression so unlike Dumbledore to display that if anyone was to walk by at that moment they would be convinced that it wasn't the venerable headmaster that was leaning against the double door entrance of the hospital wing, but a trespasser in disguise. Luckily for Dumbledore, no one tended to be around much during the summer holidays, not even many of the teachers.

The Headmaster sighed tiredly, and made his way down to the basement, or more specifically the kitchens. It was a bit out of the way, and he could have sent for an elf in his office, but the walk helped him think. And he might meet Severus along the way, which, while not a necessity, would be an added bonus.

As he stepped into the kitchens, politely ignoring and declining the looks of adoration and offers of various foods – though he did accept an egg custard – he asked the delightful little creatures for some hot chocolate and marshmallows – his favourite drink when he wished to sit and think. Then he backed out of the suddenly stifling kitchens and their eager to please occupants, and made his way to his office. Unfortunately, Severus had not made an appearance.

"Snicker-doodle," he told the gargoyle and it jumped aside even before he'd finished saying the password, recognizing him as the main inhabitant of its office, of which there were several; namely the Sorting Hat, Fawkes, and the portraits of all the previous headmaster's of Hogwarts, though the portraits were unlikely to be using the main entrance any time soon.

Dumbledore made his way up the moving, spiraling staircase and into his office. While formerly full of a cornucopia of odds and ends – and indeed, many people would still claim it was full to the brimming – Dumbledore now found his office rather bare, considering that almost quarter of his knick-knacks – all the ones that had been the nearest to Harry at the time – were destroyed. But while their lose inconvenienced him, he didn't hold anything against Harry for that. Indeed, he was actually rather thankful that her towering rage had not been taken out on those in the room that could feel pain; he'd rather not know what an exploded limb felt like. All in all he understood well what the pain of grief could force people to do.

Dumbledore settled his hot chocolate on his desk before walking towards the Sorting Hat and plucking it off the shelf. It was time for a little chat. Seating himself in his squashy desk chair, he took a large gulp of his drink, and plonked the patched old hat on his head.

"Well, then, what's _this_? Bit of a change of pace, isn't it? I doubt you'll be wanting to be sorted again, Albus."

"Hello, Hat. I was hoping you could help me. I have a bit of a problem."

"Ah, yes, Miss Potter again, isn't it? Isn't it always these days? Yes, I was wondering if you were going to ask me about this."

Dumbledore would have frowned if the Sorting Hat had eyes to see it. It was becoming entirely too smug nowadays, probably from knowing it was in the rare position to receive information that no one else was privy to and that no one ever censored themselves in its presence, even if they knew it was there. Really, it would make the perfect spy; if only it could move about by itself.

"Really now, Albus, that wasn't very nice."

Dumbledore felt a rare flood of chagrin. "I can hardly stop myself from thinking my own thoughts, rude or polite, can I? And it's not as if the thought was unkind in of itself; you could take it as a compliment that all trust you so implicitly that no one would think to keep their words to themselves.

"In any case, it was not my intention to malign you. That wouldn't get me very for in asking you about what you know concerning Harry would it?"

"Understandable, understandable."

"So, you know something then? Remus' description of the event sounded vaguely familiar but I was worried something of greater circumstance would occur before I could properly identify the situation."

"Yes, of course. Wizards in the time of the Founding Four often tried to experiment with it."

"They actually –?"

"Oh no, nothing like that. No, they never managed to find out how it works. None who attempted to understand it ever figured out how it worked. All they knew was that it fixated on specific wizards, and hoisted them away."

"Were those wizards ever seen again?" Dumbledore asked, dread in his tone.

"I'm not really sure. It wasn't a topic that was discussed particularly."

"So there _is_ something you aren't privy to?" If voices could twinkle, Dumbledore's would have been doing so. In any case, his eyes were doing it for him.

"Humph!" said the Sorting Hat.

"I apologize, Hat."

The Hat pouted for a few moments before it sniffed. "Apology excepted."

"Now, tell me everything I don't know."

"I'm sure the sum of everything you don't know could fill several books," the Hat quipped. It appeared to be making itself comfortable on Dumbledore's head. Just this was indication enough to the headmaster that it was settling in for a long discussion. "Of course I'll tell you, no use it keeping it to myself is there?"

Dumbledore had the brief thought that the Hat might keep somethings to itself to keep itself entertain before he regretted the thought.

"Really, I'm not so petty as that. This is hardly a subject to be taken lightly."

"I'm sorry, Hat."

"Don't be stupid Albus, you have nothing to apologize for this time." Dumbledore felt rather like a chastised child who'd just gotten caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. "I am over a thousand years older than you," The Hat responded, knowledgeably.

"You were saying?" Dumbledore prompted.

"Alright then, fine. Really, I hardly talk to anyone all year, the least you can do is accommodate me somewhat." Before Dumbledore could answer, the Hat began: "Where was I? Right. Well, as you know, the phenomena picks a certain wizard or witch – "

"Never a muggle?"

"Of course never a muggle! You might as well ask if Rowena's quill ever sends an acceptance letter to a muggle child. They aren't physically capable; they wouldn't survive the process. No, it's always a magical person, though I admit it isn't a common thing. It actually happened twice in Godric's time, the second time to a very good friend of his too but for the life of me, I can't recall anyone ever saying his name.

"Of course, Merlin was leap-frogging about all the time as well, so many mistook the phenomena with _that_."

"But you doubt it?"

"Certainly. The events leading up to the disappearances were too similar to be mistaken for any other cosmic occurrence, especially Merlin's personal brand of reality hopping."

"Did anyone have any idea as to where and why the chosen were taken?" Dumbledore sounded like he'd wanted to ask that question for a while now.

"Nobody knows why they were taken. Perhaps they were in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or perhaps fate ordained it from the moment of their births? I don't know. As to where they were taken? There were several theories."

"Being?"

"Well the first theory explored the idea of a space-time warp. Could take you to any particular location in time and space."

"You mean a distant galaxy."

"Not exactly. More like an alternate universe or an alternate dimension, if you like. I believe they study something like that in the Ministry of Magic."

"For certain they do. But they never do get very far in their pursuit."

"Albus!" said the Hat, sounding both shocked and grudgingly admiring. "You've been digging into unsuspecting people's minds again. For shame!"

"Why, thank you. I do like to keep on my toes. Now the other theories?"

"Right. The other theory that was widely accepted amongst those in the know is that it takes you to an exact location, an exact alternate dimension."

"You mean only one."

"Yes. There are most likely thousands, if not millions of alternate universes. But this theory focuses on their only being one, mostly likely because the same thing happens every time the wizards disappear. But you already know about that, what with the Potter girl going through the same thing."

"You don't believe there is just one?" Dumbledore's voice was filled with curiosity.

"No," The Hat stated, bluntly. "I happen to believe – from what I'd garnered from conversations I've eavesdropped in over the years – it is more of a whirlpool between the fabric of realities, rather than just a gateway from this dimension to another."

Dumbledore sighed.

"I know it will be harder to keep track of the girl this way Albus, but you probably will. There's never been a challenge you haven't mastered yet. And you can't interfere!" said the Hat at once. "It will come for her, and nothing will stop it. She _will_ be taken, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Even you aren't as powerful as one the mysteries of the universe."

"But you just said that I could master it."

"Yes, but only _after_ the act is accomplished. You will get her back, Albus. I have faith in you."

"You're so certain she will return."

"With you looking out for her? Oh, without a doubt."

"But there must be something I can do _now_."

"Well . . ." said the Hat hesitantly.

"What is it? You know something you aren't telling me."

"Now you know what if feels like to be everyone else when they're talking to _you_."

"Sorting Hat!"

"Alright, alright, take all the fun out of my life," The Hat paused. "I suppose you could place some sort of beacon on her, perhaps a tracking charm. It's a place to start."

"Of course. And if that doesn't work, I presume I can always track her with a treasured object?" The Hat grew silent. "Thank you, Hat."

Dumbledore stood and returned the frayed hat back to its perch. Grabbing his now cold chocolate drink, he made his way out of his office; the curious portraits not even pretending to be asleep. In fact, most of them looked rather annoyed. Dumbledore inwardly chuckled. They hadn't been able to hear his conversation with the Sorting Hat because it was internal. He would probably be getting a lot of disgruntled complaints in the days to come.

Dumbledore stepped onto the escalator, knowing to prepare himself for the jump off. Just as he reached the back of the gargoyle he shot off to the side and ungainly stumbled into the secret doorway concealed with disillusionment charms. Straightening his hat and reminding himself that he had nothing to blush over, as no one was there to see him go from powerful wizard to staggering idiot, he proceeded to step through the door, which closed with an ominous sounding clunk behind him.

"The hospital wing." Dumbledore intoned distinctly, and the room spun. No one knew that the headmaster could travel to any cupboard in the school through this room. It acted rather like floo powder, except without the messy grates and tight squeeze of the fireplace. After a few seconds of dizzy whirling, the room grew still and Dumbledore walked out of the same door he'd come in. Only the view had changed.

Instead of seeing the moving staircase and the back of the stone gargoyle, Dumbledore observed the interior of the hospital wing supply cupboard. Taking care not snag his robe on any potent potions – he didn't even want to think of the consequences of _that_ – he opened the door of the cupboard just a smidgeon and eyed the room as avidly as he could through the thin slit. He spotted Remus and Nymphadora chatting quietly by Harry's bed with their backs turned to where he was hidden. Giving a small sigh of relief and thankfulness, Dumbledore carefully and silently stepped out of the cupboard and then closed it gently behind him.

Dumbledore waved a hand at himself until he could no longer see the hand that waved or his body, and turned to the direction of the hospital door. Opening it as softly as he could he stepped out into the corridor, making sure to shut the door behind him. He took a moment to remove the invisibility charm and compose himself.

Really, all these secret doorways and sneaking around were beginning to mess with his head. He felt like he was still a student, taking an illegal stroll out of hours in the corridors. Not that the Sorting Hat had been any help with discouraging those kinds of thoughts from his head either, what with the way it scolded him earlier. Sometimes one hundred and fifty years of life felt entirely too young, when everything else in your vicinity was a lot older.

Opening the door again – this time making certain to create the believable amount of noise – he stepped in. Remus and Nymphadora immediately turned towards him.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, good thing you came now, Harry's just starting to wake up."

"My timing is impeccable as always then. Tell me Nymphadora," he began, and the pink-haired young woman bristled visibly. Albus knew you shouldn't tease the young lady so but she reacted so amusingly. "has anything unusual occurred while I was gone?"

"If by unusual you mean other than a bit of mumbling in her sleep, then no."

"Very good then."

"Professor Dumbledore?" said a tired sounding voice.

"Harry, don't try to sit up yet."

"Remus? Is that Tonks too?" Harry looked at the two older wizards. "Where am I? Why can't I see anything?"

"Sorry Harry," Remus leaned over Harry's bed and retrieved her glasses.

_'But of course_,' thought Dumbledore. '_The glasses would be perfect. She would rarely ever take them off and they would go with her everywhere.'_ He would have to put an unbreakable charm on them also, to make sure they didn't shatter. He wondered if turning Harry's glasses into a portkey, and then activating said portkey when Harry reached the other world would work, but he immediately dismissed that idea. He wasn't sure if portkeys worked between worlds.

"Is that better?"

"Yes, thank you, Remus."

"If you don't mind I would like to speak with Harry alone for a moment."

Remus and Tonks nodded in assent before standing up and walking out the door. As they passed Dumbledore, he told them: "Come back in half an hour or so, Remus, after you two collect Harry's things from her relatives house."

"Most of my things are already in my trunk," Harry chimed in. "but I have some stuff under a loose floorboard under my bed as well."

Albus nodded agreeably. "In the meantime I just want to clarify some things with Harry." He probably shouldn't have said that last sentence because Remus looked at him oddly, but what was done was done, and nothing could change it now. "Good afternoon, Harry," he said after Remus had shut the door.

"And you." The girl looked pinched and pale, her normally disorderly mop of curls now doubly messy. She swiped her fringe out of her eyes and squinted at him. "I suppose you want to know what happened."

"You mean when you heard an extremely loud, suspicious noise, which caused you to temporarily lose your hearing?" Dumbledore asked innocently, allowing himself to enjoy the expression of shock and bewilderment adorning the girl's face.

"H-how did you . . ?" she said, stuttering a little. "Then you were there? You heard it as well?"

"Not just so." Dumbledore responded. A puzzled frown crossed Harry's face. No doubt she was trying to work out the proper meaning of the word in its context.

"What do you mean, sir?"

Dumbledore sat on the chair beside Harry's bed, and pored steam from his wand and into his now hot chocolate. "I mean that I wasn't actually there, and therefore I heard nothing of the sort, but that there have been accounts of what happened to you occurring all through time."

"There have?" said Harry, looking surprised and relived all at once. "So, what happened, sir?"

"Ah. What is _still _happening," began Dumbledore, observing Harry's unhappy expression at the word _still_, "has not happened in some time. It is something that is so mysterious, so complex, that even the greatest minds wizardkind has known thus far know little to nothing about it."

"I'm sorry, sir, but could we skip the prologue and get to the gist?" asked Harry, sounding annoyed, having long ago run out of patience for his dragged out way of speaking.

"Tell me, my girl, have you ever heard of the term Alternate Reality?"

Harry looked thoughtful, biting her lip. "You mean like in the movies?"

Dumbledore smile affably. "I have not seen any muggle move-_ees_, but perhaps if you can describe to me what you believe the term is, I could confirm or deny the claim."

"Well, it's like when there are different worlds alongside this one, isn't it?"

"I couldn't have placed it better myself."

Harry looked a bit apprehensive as she prepared to ask her next question. "What's this got to do with me, though?" she asked in a voice that gave away her bad feeling of the answer.

"Harry," Albus began gently. "That sound, the wind and rain, that lightning that you saw, and your lack of hearing, which, thankfully you've gotten back, is all a result of a space time-whirlpool choosing a person and opening up to take that person into another world."

There was silence for the longest of minutes. Harry sat there trying to process the thought of being sucked into a large black hole type of thing, and never being seen again. "What do you mean it chooses a person?" she finally asked.

"I mean that you have no choice in this and you cannot stop it; it will follow you. It _will_ take you to a different world. And it's best if you don't try to fight it, it will be less painful that way."

"What?!" Harry said, aghast, her mouth falling open a bit. "_Professor!_ Can't we do something?"

"I'm afraid there is nothing _to _do. Merlin himself was carried off in one of these things. Your best option would be to ride it out, from what I've heard of the phenomenon."

"And that's it?" Harry asked incredulously. "I'll be taken away, all by myself, all alone?"

"You'll be taking necessities to help you along, of course. We'll hardly let you go off with nothing but the clothes on your back, will we? Your trunk and your wand will be going along with you to be sure, and I'm sure we'll think of plenty of other helpful things that will be of use.

"In fact, I don't think that the Ministry of Magic can trace underage wizardry into different worlds, so you'll hardly be defenseless if you _do _fall into a spot of trouble. It might actually do you some good to get away from the pressures of this world; just think of it as a holiday."

Harry stared at Dumbledore as if she'd just realised that the headmaster was nuttier than a port-a-potty at a peanut eating contest.

"H-holiday?" she stuttered, sounding slightly on the edge of hysterical. "I won't be on a holiday, sir, I'll be stuck forever in some god-forsaken place with only my trunk and my wand –"

"Don't forget Hedwig," Dumbledore interrupted, jovially.

Harry just stared at him. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Harry, in this whole conversation have you ever heard me use the word 'forever' or any other term that implied eternity?" Dumbledore looked at him through the top of his glasses. "Hmm?"

"Are you saying I can come back?"

"Of course. _I_ will bring you back. And to make sure I can trace you, may I please have your glasses for a moment?"

Harry took off her glasses and handed them to Dumbledore, who murmured something and tapped them twice with his wand. He gave them back to Harry, who placed them on his nose.

"Now that that's done you ought to prepare yourself, it will come for you soon, I imagine. Don't look so panicked, child," said Dumbledore soothingly, after seeing Harry's expression of horror. "Everything will be fine, you'll see. In the meantime . . ." Dumbledore raised his hands and clapped twice, and to Harry's surprise a house elf popped into existence on the other side of his bed.

"Headmaster, sir, be clapping for Twinky?" said the house elf in such a high- pitched voice, that it stung Harry's currently sensitive eardrums.

"Yes, thank you for your promptness, Twinky." Harry was even more surprised to discover that house elves blushed.

"What can Twinky be doing for you, sir?"

"If you please, Twinky, could you fill as much food and drink as you can into this?" Dumbledore held up what looked like a small moneybag. It wasn't at all eye-catching; in fact it was rather drab. "It has been charmed weightless and has been enchanted with a respectable space-expander, so you should have no problem fitting in at least a barrel of food and drink into it. Feel free to squeeze as much as you can in there."

Dumbledore handed the pouch over to the elf, who took it reverently, and disappeared with a small pop. "Now all we have to do is to sit and wait for Remus and Tonks to come back with Hedwig and your things. I daresay your relatives will be surprised when they see who's at their door."

Harry couldn't help but grin at the thought of that scenario. Then the discomfort of the looming unknown drifted back in."Sir?"

"Yes Harry?"

"Where is it going to come for me? Will it wait until I'm outside again or will it blast through the ceiling or something? Maybe I should go onto the grounds where no one will be around? That lightning will be a serious bit of dangerous."

Both of Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in surprise, adding another few wrinkles to his already creased forehead. "You know, my dear girl, I hadn't actually thought of that. But now that I am thinking about it, I would say outside is the best place. We wouldn't want Remus to spot you and try to interfere, getting himself killed in the process, do we?"

Harry's mouth dropped open, a look of apprehension appeared on her face. "Is that actually possible, sir?"

"Most certainly, Harry; there have been accounts of it. This portal, this vortex, whatever you want to call it, was created for you, and for you alone. Anyone else trying to enter it will not survive the experience."

Just then a small pop heralded the return of the house elf.

"Your pouch, Headmaster, sir. Twinky is filling it with foods and drinks and putting them in stasis so they stay good for very long time."

"Thank you very much, Twinky, you did splendidly." The little elf blushed again before stuttering her thanks and disappearing.

"Well then Harry. I think you ought to get ready; we don't exactly have a schedule for this. When Remus and Nymphadora return I'll put the bag of food in your trunk then I'll teach you shrink it so it'll fit in your pocket. Less cumbersome that way. After all, we don't really know where you're going, do we? It's better to be prepared."

Harry gulped.

Dumbledore tilted his head slightly."Ah, I think I hear them coming down the corridor now."

Bickering voice could be heard, growing louder by the second. "All I'm saying is that you should have made it last a bit longer. I mean he's only going to be stuck as a cockroach for fifteen minutes. I'd have done it for at least thirty."

"I shouldn't have done it at all; he's still Harry's uncle. Not to mention, I flouted the law for the baiting of muggles or whatever it's called."

Tonks burst out laughing. "Never thought you'd be one to lose your temper, Remus."

"Oh shut up, he had it coming."

The two wizards appeared at the doorway.

"Wotcher, Harry! Here ya go. Took awhile convincing your relatives to let us in, but Remus here managed to persuade them."

The ex-professor blushed ever so lightly. He pointedly avoided their amused looks.

"And how exactly did you do that?" Dumbledore peered at Remus through his half spectacles. Remus muttered something about "under my foot" and that was all Harry understood.

"I'm sure I didn't here a thing," Dumbledore told him, apparently fascinated by a stain on the wall opposite him.

"Er, right." Remus said, looking extremely uncomfortable and relieved at the same time.

"We'll just go then, Professor," said Tonks placing Hedwig in her cage next to Harry's trunk. Then she took Remus's arm and pulled him out the door.

"Right, back to business then." Dumbledore used the summoning charm and Harry's trunk and Hedwig (screeching in her cage) came soaring towards Dumbledore and came to a rest by his knees. Dumbledore opened her trunk and placed the pouch carefully into a small compartment. Then he let Hedwig out of her cage, shrunk it, and placed that in the trunk too.

"You never know what you might need the cage for," Dumbledore explained to Harry's questioning look. "Now then. To shrink, you simply tap it with your wand and say _Substrictus Minimus_. To expand, you tap it twice with your wand and say _Dilato Maximus_. Do you understand?"

"I think so, sir."

"Excellent! Have a go at it then."

Harry stood from where she had been sitting and took up her wand. She successfully did the shrinking charm on the thrunk and was about to attempt to return it to it's regular size when a thought struck her. "Sir, what about Hedwig? Won't she get hurt going into the vortex thing?"

Dumbledore tilted his head again and peered consideringly at the ceiling. "That's a very good question. If she doesn't mind I can put her in your trunk, with plenty of air of course. You can release her upon your arrival."

Both wizards turns towards Hedwig, who had an expression of deep mistrust on her face.

"What do you say, Hed? I promise you won't be uncomfortable. At least, not for too long." Hedwig hooted grudgingly, then shuffled across Harry's bed – a bit wonky-like. Owl talons really weren't meant to traipse across squishy mattresses– and came to rest by Dumbledore, who opened the trunk and gently placed Hedwig within. Then he closed the trunk and shrunk it again.

"I've placed a cushioning charm in there as well. If you suffer any bumps along the way, she won't be able to feel it. Speaking of, would you like me to place one around your person?"

"That's probably a good idea, sir." Dumbledore tapped her on the head with his wand and the next thing Harry felt was something like pillows pressing up against her on all sides. "Thanks, Professor."

"Not at all, Harry. Not at all."

Harry smiled awkwardly and began fiddling with the sheets beneath her hands. She absently thought the sheets were especially soft today and maybe she could get a wizard's tent and fill it with comfortable bedding in case wherever she ended up didn't accommodate inter-dimensional travelers. In fact, it was highly lightly they wouldn't, so she should really try to find a tent soon. Perhaps the Room of Hidden Things would have one.

She really didn't want to ask the next question she had flicking through her thoughts, but she didn't exactly have a choice if Dumbledore was right about that _thing_ not leaving her alone. "I suppose I should go now?"

Dumbledore sighed wearily, looking more old and tired than Harry had ever seen. "Yes, you probably should." He rose from his sitting position, and offered Harry a hand. Harry took it. "I'll make sure no one follows you. Good luck, Harry Potter," he said, and with a small, secret smile and a twinkle in his eye, walked out of the hospital wing.

Harry took a deep breath. "Right then." She stood from the bed, stretching as hard as she could. She was stiff all over even though it didn't feel like she had been unconscious long. She walked over to the shrunken trunk and picked it up and pocketed it along with her wand. Even though she knew of the Cushioning Charm, she hoped Hedwig wasn't being tossed about in there.

She drew a shaky breath, wondering if it would delay the arrival of the _thing _if she took a much needed trip to the nearest facility. Probably not but Harry didn't exactly have much of a choice in the matter; it was either go to the loo or suffer an embarrassing situation later on in another world. She had sudden thought; what if wherever she landed didn't have bathrooms?Dumbledore had called it a time-space vortex, hadn't he? What if she landed during the fourteenth century in a different country? Shuddering with the potential disaster, Harry made her way to the Hospital Wing lavatories.

After taking care of her business, Harry quietly stepped out of the hospital wing and made her way to the seventh floor. She traversed through the empty halls of the school as quickly as she could, the knowledge that the vortex could rip through the castle and steal her away, unmindful of the damage it would do to the school, had her bounding forward at almost a run.

When she reached the hidden room in the seventh floor corridor, she immediately flitted about, grabbing everything that could be of possible use, including a thick, black robes-and-traveling-cloak set she had seen last year when she first discovered the Room and donned the outfit with alacrity; they were charmed with temperature regulators and would be comfortable to wear in both the hot and the freezing. Adjusting the wide-brimmed wizard's hat of a matching color, she then searched for the tents she had thought about earlier.

It turned out that the Room was in stock of several wizard tents that had been lost over the centuries that were all eye-catching and ridiculously larger on the inside. Harry lost herself momentarily in the speculation of who would ever need a crumbling citadel-style tent with ten bedrooms, six and a half bathrooms, a reception area, a sitting room, a dining room, a kitchen, a spiraling staircase, and _a dungeon _of all things! If someone were to go to all the trouble of such an elaborate set-up, why not just make it a house to begin with? Why did none of these tents come in humble, one bedroom cabin?

Harry decisively picked up a more modest – if modest could be used in conjugation with such an excessively done up thing – medieval jousting tournament-style tent with a large main room that doubled as sitting room and dining room, two bathrooms, a cozy kitchen, and four sleeping areas elevated off the main room on raised platforms with privacy insured by heavy curtains, mentally snubbing her nose at the rich tossers that had the money to be laid-back enough to lose such obviously expensive merchandise. Served them right that someone else would be able to put them to better use without picking up the most ostentatious of the lot.

Then again . . .

Harry's eyes flickered back to the citadel tent; it really was an impressive spread. It would most likely end up that she would be living in the tent when she got to wherever it was the black hole thing would take her since, she doubted they would accept Galleons there, and she hardly had enough galleons on her for a place to live anyways. Her inner penny-pincher reared it's head; if she was going to live in a tent, why not make a really nice tent? What if she ended up making friends and needed a place for them to visit? What if she made _enemies _and needed a place to lock them up? And the pots and pans in that fancy kitchen were really good quality; she always liked to have a nice crockery set when she cooked.

The crack of thunder and lightning from the outside the window across the hall startled her out of her thoughts. Harry poked her head out from the Room and saw that the clouds were churning faster than before. Now was not the time to contemplate real estate. She rolled up the tournament tent and shoved it into her robe's inner pocket while climbing up onto the window's ledge.

"Hermione's not here to stop me now," Harry whispered gleefully while glancing about the corridor once again to make sure her bookwormy friend had not been summoned out of thin air at the mention of her name. Without pause, giving herself no time to second guess, the green-eyed witch threw herself out of the seventh floor window, into the stormy, open air, mounting her broom and whooping like an idiot along the way.

Harry flew her way to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. In the gale-like winds, she felt as if she was treading water deep under the Black Lake. She found herself near the outskirts of the grounds faster than she had anticipated and made to hide in the Forbidden Forest when she suddenly changed her mind and doubled back to go to the Quidditch pitch instead. Hagrid's hut had been in immediate sight, what with it being right next to the Forest, and she had noticed smoke coming out of the chimney; she couldn't risk the half-giant seeing her being taken and rushing to her rescue.

The Quidditch pitch was a much safer bet; if anyone were to look at it from the castle, they wouldn't be able to see her on the ground, since the wooden stands rose for twenty meters in the air all around the oval field. Also, the additional concealment of the house banners and house towers made for a thicker coverage as well.

Harry touched down near one of the scoring poles, and leaned against it, unshrinking her trunk for a moment so she could pack away her broom once more. She straightened her shoulders and waited at the ready.

It was as if the vortex could read her mind for the clouds immediately began churning and swirling faster. The rumble of thunder shook the ground where she stood and lightning flashed once more, not far from where Harry was standing.

Then it began.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Harry's entire body stiffened with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Harry knew without a doubt what was coming next. And sure enough:

_C-crack! Shhhhhhhhhhhh._

Little by little, and bit by bit, the tapping grew louder and less disjointed and the rain continued to fall heavier. The howling wind picked up, ruffling her clothes to extreme proportions. To be on the safe side, Harry pulled her inner shirt tightly around the trouser pocket where she had her wand and trunk, and tied the loose excess into a knot on the other hip. She then carefully did up the rows of buttons of her double breasted travelling robes and drew her cloak around herself more tightly.

The sounds of the storm continued even louder, but not as ear-achingly painful as before. Harry remembered Professor Dumbledore telling her that if she didn't fight it, all would go smoothly, and it certainly looked that way.

Thunder rumbled heavily directly above her. In the split second it took Harry to snap her gaze from her muddying boots to the sky, a lightening bolt exploded jolted down from the clouds and struck her head on.


	3. An Inauspicious Meeting

**AN:** Hello all, this is the third chapter in less that twelve hours! O: I will not be keeping this pace up but I wanted to give you plenty of material to tease the imagination a bit before I taunt you with slower updates (MWahahaha). Truthfully, I have five more chapters already ready to be uploaded but I have of habit of going back to chapters already finished and tweaking things, so I don't want to shove it all out when I'll regret it later.

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**Chapter Three: An Inauspicious Meeting **

The first thing Harry became aware of was that she was freezing. She wasn't just rather cold, the kind of cold one would feel after standing in the rain for a goodly amount of time and was possibly developing a cold, no, instead she felt as if she had been turned into a popsicle that had been pushed to the back of a cavernous freezer and had long since been forgotten.

She opened her eyes in an attempt to discern where she was. Cutting her gaze about, she appeared to be lying in a frozen tundra with temperatures distressingly in the negatives. With her breath turning to frost not two inches from her lips, Harry was sure she'd never felt so cold before in her life. But as she focused on the bone-chilling temperature around her, she realized she wasn't shivering, which was certainly a very odd thing.

In the back of her cold-numbed mind, she vaguely remembered reading somewhere about getting so cold that you couldn't move your limbs, and Harry desperately prayed this was not the case. Her robes and cloak were supposed to be good even in extreme temperatures but she doubt the makers had experimented on how useful it would be in a place like Antarctica. She tried flexing her fingers and toes, but there appeared to be no awareness left in them. Commanding herself not to panic, she experimented a bit with her arm as well. The relief she felt when her limbs began responded once again was hard to describe.

Thinking quickly, Harry rolled into a ball and tucked her arm up under the front of her shirt, curling them together in the valley between her breasts, hoping that whatever heat was left in her body would warm her fingers enough for her to properly use her wand. It took a while of wiggling them about but she was eventually fully confident in their maneuverability.

She pulled up the side of her robes and blouse-y inner shirt and pulled her wand from her pocket. Then she began feeling for her shrunken trunk; she discovered it lurking low in the deep pocket brushing against her mid-thigh. Letting out a sigh of relief that all her important luggage managed to make the trip with her, she decided to keep the trunk tucked away. It was too cold to let Hedwig out of the trunk in any case. Once she managed to get to a safer, warmer location, then she'd think about it again.

Sometime during her search for warmth, Harry had closed her eyes again. She cracked opened once more a black-clouded sky, with eerie metallic green tints. It was snowing. Harshly. It was also extremely windy. Harry hadn't felt any of it because her body was so numb. Harry also discerned – with pooling of cold dread in her stomach – that she couldn't hear again. She briskly discarded the concern since she'd gotten back her hearing rather quickly before. Actually, what with everything that had happened – had she really been struck by lightning? – she thought it was a miracle she was still in one piece. She shifted a bit and felt a slight weight on her face; goodness, she still even had her glasses!

Slowly, painfully, Harry sat up in a crouch, using her left hand to balance and palming her wand on her other at the same time. Not for the first time did she realize how lucky she was to be a wizard. With growing satisfaction, she conjured a globe of green flames to float directly in front of her, even as she settled back down to sit on her rear. Never had she been so thankful that magical fire did not require wood.

After almost fifteen minutes of waiting, she began to wonder why she wasn't warming up, as she knew the fire to be extremely hot, what having made four training dummies that had surrounded the fifth that was on fire explode into ashes before. After several accounts of trial and error, she realized her problem and the reason why she wasn't dead from the cold – which she had been wondering about. It was all because Dumbledore's cushioning charm was still in effect, protecting her from the elements. Feeling peeved at wasting time waiting for an ineffective fireball to warm her, she consoled herself by reminding herself that at least she didn't have to worry about developing hypothermia or frostbite.

Harry felt very grateful to Dumbledore then, and not for the first time began wondering if the old man had somehow known about Harry's destination beforehand.

Closing her eyes, bracing herself in expectation of the extremely biting wind and coldness, Harry counted to three before pointing her wand at her stomach.

_"Finite Incantatum."_

Immediately, the harsh, bitter wind flooded her senses and she started shivering madly. Conjuring four more globes of green flames in a circle around her, she settled on getting warm. Ten minutes of rubbing her flash back to life and sighing in relief, she didn't feel the cold at all. In fact, it was getting a little too warm for her liking, so she dispelled two of the five flames while unshrinking her trunk, pulling out her precious Firebolt. She determinedly ignored the pang in her chest when she remembered that Sirius had been the one that had given her the broom.

With swift economical movements, Harry re-shrunk her trunk and tucked it away once more. She decided to keep Hedwig inside, not willing to release her until she flew to less colder conditions.

With a negligent sort of wave of her wand, Harry dispelled the remaining three flames; a heavy-duty warming charm on her robes on top of the temperature regulators already on them would serve her better at the moment. After making sure there was no residual fire anywhere, she shoved her wand up her sleeve and buttoned the snug cuff so it wouldn't have a chance to fall out. As she did so, her hearing rushed back in full force. Harry cried out as the extra loud burst of whistling air and howling wind bombarded her sensitive ears.

Trying to ignore the throbbing of her eardrums, Harry clutched her Firebolt to her chest and proceeded forward. She'd be best off walking until the wind let up a bit before she tried flying.

She'd only walked about five meters when her right foot fell through empty air. Hastily jerking back, Harry tried peering through the blizzard, but she couldn't see beyond one foot in front of her. He knelt down and reached out with her hand, feeling icy snow and jagged rock beneath her palm. She inched forward ever so slowly until she felt nothing but air under her hand.

It came to her abruptly: she was on some sort of cliff, a mountain ledge perhaps. She could have walked right off of it! Of course, she had she Firebolt, and her reflexes were legendary, but it was still a disconcerting that she hadn't known that she was so close to plunging to her death.

"Graggh, why me?" Harry rocked back on her heels and tried to think about what to do. If she flew through the blizzard then she might fly head on into another mountain, or get blown around in circles, and if she flew downwards, she might crash into a protruding ledge, or even the ground. And she had no particular desire to stay on the blistering, biting mountaintop either.

This was going to take some serious planning.

Eventually, Harry had an idea that might work. It required shooting hot blasts of air from out of her wand to clear the falling snow in front of her, giving her a clearer line of sight. Unfortunately, it also required her to fly extremely slowly, something she was not keen on, but she had no other choice; she had to get off this mountain soon. She needed to release Hedwig so she could eat and Harry knew her owl would be in a right proper mood once she was out.

She mounted her broomstick and _whoosh, _off she went. It worked beautifully – despite being tossed about like a rag doll in a washing machine – and about an hour later she was out of the blizzard and away from the mountain.

Harry found herself looking down on picturesque landscape. To her left there appeared to be a bush of a forest. The vegetation there was denser than right below her, where a few trees dotted the, rugged, hilly landscape. To her far right, Harry could just make out what looked like a black tower sticking straight up in the air. It looked ominous, the textbook perfect example of what the home-base of a tyrannical over-lord looked like, and Harry decided not to fly that way at all unless some cloud cover obscured her. Unless directly confronted, she wanted nothing to do with the forces of evil; she had quite enough of that at home, thank you very much. Behind her were yet more forests, and in front of her was what looked like a chain of exceedingly tall mountains extending both left and right as far as she could see.

The world she got dumped in didn't appear to be too bad; in fact it looked positively peaceful if you ignored the resident bad-guy taking up air over in the corner. Harry wondered if there were any intelligent creatures here and if they spoke English. There would have to be even if they didn't speak English if that black tower was any indication. She also pondered on whether the world was entirely muggle or magical, or both. If it was muggle, she would have to hide her magic, since there was no use in scaring the inhabitants. If it was magical, then she would fit right in.

Hopefully.

Harry plunged straight down to the ground, laughing and whopping crazily. If she was to be stuck in an unknown world, at least she could have some fun. She could forget about everything when on a broom, and she loved it. The wind in her face, on her stomach, pleasantly somersaulting with the tilt of her broom, the wondrous, rapturous feeling in her heart as she tumbled through the sun-drenched atmosphere and left behind all problems and responsibilities and became Harry, just Harry.

Eventually, Harry landed on a low ridge crowned with ancient holly trees whose gray-green trunks seemed to have been built out of the very stone of the ground. Their dark leaves shone strangely and their berries glowed an ominous blood red in the light of the setting sun. Now that Harry's euphoria of flying was over, she felt a bit nervous. What did she really know about surviving in the wilderness? Yes she had sustenance, and even a place to sleep, but what about wild animals? What if there were some magical creatures here that wouldn't be bothered by her stunning spells or impediment jinxes? She didn't know any wards; she would have to sleep with one eye open. Or maybe she could get Hedwig to watch over her. Owls were night creatures after all.

Speaking of which . . .

"_Dilato Maximus_!"

Harry opened her trunk and was nearly bowled over by a white ball of fluff that shot out into her face, hooting angrily. How long had she been on that mountain?

"I'm sorry, Hed, I was unconscious." Hedwig bit Harry's nose with her beak. "Ouch! I _tried_ to hurry. I'm sorry, all right? Merlin!"

Harry watched as Hedwig shot into the air and whizzed around angrily. "Don't be like that! It's not like I purposely kept you in there as long as I could." She'd never seen Hedwig so puffed up in fury before. Hedwig screeched sharply at Harry knocked down several leaves and even some branches during her enraged flight. "I'm really sorry, Hedwig. You know I never like keeping you locked up. Why don't you come down? I'll give you some water. I have some of you favourite treats in here as well," she tempted.

Hedwig appeared to consider her request before swooping down to land on her shoulder. She ruffled her feathers a little pompously and settled on glaring at Harry with her large, yellow eyes.

"Come on now, Hedwig, you know I'm really sorry," Harry implored as she rummaged through the food pouch and gave her some water from a flask. "You're my only friend in this place. We have to stick together."

The snowy owl hooted softly before nipping her ear, and Harry knew she'd been forgiven. "Do you want you treats or would you rather go look for something fresh?"

Hedwig took off into the air. She remained within Harry's sight for a good five minutes, before disappearing into the setting sun. Harry hoped she'd come back soon. She _really_ didn't fancy being alone in the dark in a strange world she knew nothing about.

Only ten minutes had passed since Hedwig left, and the light of the sky was grayer now, when Harry first heard what sounded like the wings of an impossibly large swarm of wasps. Bewildered, frightened, and wondering if this were a common occurrence in this world, Harry stood up from her seat on a boulder she had found and thought about casting the disillusionment charm on herself. She immediately did cast it a few seconds later when she spotted a flock of the biggest crows she had ever seen fly overhead. For whatever reason, they gave her an awful feeling; she hoped Hedwig didn't meet up with that lot.

Night had fallen a little while later, by the time Hedwig showed up with half a dead mouse in her beak. Harry herself wasn't feeling particularly hungry, and having to listen to Hedwig gobble down the unfortunate rodent was hardly appetizing. She set to pitching up her tent with decisive flicks of her wand, but all the while wondered if she would be adequately aware of any of the unfriendlies out there, if any showed up. Never had she before wished that she had at least rudimentary skills in warding. Could a disillusionment charm be cast on a tent?

Harry cast the spell on the ready tent and found it serviceable. Circling the area and finding it effectively invisible if one didn't know what they were looking for, she decided that it would keep her camouflaged if anything that ate humans came sniffing around.

Harry was reluctant to take off the disillusionment charm currently on herself – it would be of no use to have successfully hidden her camp only to be caught herself – but she was forced to in the end when Hedwig – not having seen her – turned up and started flying in circles above Harry's general area.

Harry carried the owl perched on her forearm through the flaps of the tent and gently eased the owl onto a nearby wooden chair. The chair, a tall, straight-backed number, was set next to a comfortable looking settee that Harry was planning on using as a bed that night. The tent had sleeping areas but she wasn't willing to explore them until she was absolutely certain she wouldn't need a quick escape during a split second; maybe after she had slept undisturbed through a few nights.

She had just unfastened her cloak when she heard it. Howling! Wolf howling. _Loud_ wolf howling. Implying that they were extremely close! Harry froze, holding her breath, her ears straining.

The howling got louder.

That was close enough! Harry jumped up and snatched Hedwig from her perch, bounding out of the tent, and threw the startled bird into the sky, apologizing fervently as she did. Four swift waves of her wand had the tent shrunk back down and already half way tucked into her pocket. She refastened the cloak at her collar and mounted her Firebolt. Let those wolves try to get her while she was up in the air!

"Come on, Hedwig," she whisper harshly into the dark night. The disgruntled owl flew towards her and perched on the end of her broom, and inched closer until she was once again settled in Harry's lap and wrapped in the black cloak. Harry cooed at her owl penitently and spent the rest of the next ten minutes scouring the ground from the air in an attempt to find the wolves.

Gradually, the howling dispersed, but Harry still had no desire to get off her broom, she was too keyed up. What if they came back? The ground wasn't looking very safe at the moment. The moon provided her enough light to keep flying around, and Harry snatched that as an excuse to not even think about lighting her wand.

Hedwig eventually flew off to rest in a tree to get away from the constant flying. Harry hoped she herself would soon find a suitable place to hole up for the night, maybe a wide tree branch like Hedwig.

She'd been flying for a while in every which way direction, when she spotted the light of a fire below him. Fire meant people, but people could easily mean muggles; she needed to get out of sight.

Harry gently swooped down and landed on a thick branch in a large, knotty tree, with abundant foliage. The tree was part of a circle of trees that rested on the crest of a small hill, and in the middle of the hill was a clearing, which hosted nine of the strangest looking people Harry had ever seen.

Four of them appeared to be children, but when they spoke, their voices were clearly adult. Harry didn't know what to make of this, so she ignored her curiosity and turned her gaze to the person next to them. This one seemed to be made of hair and metal, and Harry got the distinct impression it was a dwarf, though he was nothing like the miserable fellows Lockhart had conned into dressing as winged cupids. The four other occupants were normal-sized, however, one could not be what Harry would term human. He certainly looked a lot like a human but the fact that he glowed belied his humanity.

The last man Harry was the most glad to see, because he was clearly a wizard. He had the robes, the hat, and a gnarled walking stick that was most definitely a staff. Suddenly, Harry was glad she was raised muggle, otherwise she might have missed seeing TV wizards and would have been fooled into thinking that the old wizard's walking stick was just that. She was especially glad she wouldn't have to hide her magic.

She only hoped that the old wizard's magic worked at least similarly to her own but being in another world could make short work of that hope.

Harry leaned up against the tree, tilting her ear in the direction of the group. They were talking amongst themselves in a language she didn't understand. It sounded vaguely familiar, like she should know it, but the words just weren't making any sense.

There went her hope of communicating.

Then an idea struck her: If that old wizard – who looked curiously like Dumbledore on a bad hair day – could understand the significance of owl post, she could send Hedwig there with a blank piece of parchment. The old man might recognize that Hedwig was a wizard's owl – if wizards even had familiars here, that is – since she was highly intelligent. Then Harry could get Hedwig to befriend them and . . . it just might work!

Possibly.

Maybe.

She hoped so.

Harry snuggled down against the trunk of the tree and let her eyes drift shut. It would have to wait until morning when both Harry and Hedwig were feeling energetic enough to deal with more trouble.

Wargs had chased the Fellowship through most of the early evening and the new night. To defend themselves more easily from the wolves, Gandalf led the company to the top of a small hill. It was crowned with a knot of old and twisted trees, about which lay a broken circle of boulder-stones. In the midst of this, they lit a fire, for there was no hope that darkness and silence would keep their trail from discovery by the hunting packs. Wolves had those great noses for sniffing after all.

Sleep evaded the anxious group, so they spent the passing calm talking amongst themselves, mostly about mundane things. It was Sam who had gotten such a fright that he accidentally trod in the fire when a great white owl swooped out of nowhere and made its perch on Gandalf's head. For a split second the tired group was too bewildered by the sight of this magnificent bird to do anything but stare in mute silence. That is, until the wizard jumped up with a speed belying his age, and plucked it off his head. Gandalf held the bird in front of him like a sack full of dung.

The company started when the owl screeched at Gandalf, sounding for all the world as though it were angry with him.

Hedwig had been having an awful day. Her wizard had received unpleasant news that resulted in her ending up stuck in a trunk for a drearily long time and no sooner had she been released from the trunk that she had discovered that the world as it once was, was no longer, and no familiar place could be reached. Then, when she was settling down to sleep off some of the unsettling feelings of disorientation, she had been tossed into the air by her fearful lady at the baying of meat-eating predators that were dangerous to them both. And now, after her wizard had fallen asleep in her perch, after Hedwig had come up with a basic plan to court allies, when Hedwig had thought she had found help for her wonderful but young lady, the help presumed to manhandle her so disrespectfully!

She couldn't help but screech out her frustrations.

"I'm terribly sorry, my dear," said Gandalf, sounding contrite, and, to the shock of the entire Fellowship, placed the bird on his forearm. The Fellowship got an even bigger shock when the owl dropped a rolled up bit of parchment from it's beak, onto Gandalf's face. They didn't know whether to laugh or be concerned at the look of shock that crossed the old wizard's face.

"This is most unusual," Gandalf mumbled as he unravel the paper. "Who sent you then?" he asked the bird, who hooted at him. Everyone watched with bated breath as the wizard skimmed the parchment.

"What does it say Gandalf?" one of the hobbits asked, after allowing the wizard a minute to peruse the note.

Gandalf looked up at them with surprise on his face. "Nothing, my dear hobbit. It says nothing. It is blank."

There was uproar. "Blank? Surely then it is the work of the enemy?" cried Boromir. "Alas that they have found us!"

"No, it is not so," said Gandalf, to the surprise and relief of everyone. "I sense no evil in this bird. I believe whoever sent her to me might be in need of my assistance. This is the feeling I get from her."

"Help? How should we help anyone when we cannot even help ourselves?" Gimli grumbled, glaring at the beautiful owl. "I still say there is something odd afoot."

"Without a doubt. But I do not think it is a _bad_ odd," responded Gandalf

"This is strange. In all my years I have never seen an owl deliver anything, let alone a blank letter," said Legolas, staring suspiciously at the bird.

"Nor have I. Which leads me to believe that it was a wizard who trained her."

"Saruman!" was the name more than half the Fellowship exclaimed to those words.

"No, he has no power over birds or beasts. But my cousin, Radagast the Brown, has always been able to understand and influence the minds of animals, more so than even I. I fear he may be in danger, if this bird is his."

"Then why was the parchment blank?"

"I don't know, Frodo. That is a riddle to sleep on, I'm afraid."

But no sooner had he said those words than a howl pierced the night. Bill, the pony, wasn't the only one trembling where he stood. The howling of the wolves was now all around them, sometimes nearer and sometimes further off. Shining, demon eyes reflected the light of the fire. Some advanced almost to the ring of stones. At a gap in the circle, a great dark wolf-shape halted, gazing at them. A shuddering howl broke from him, as if he were a captain summoning his pack to the assault.

At his command, many gray shapes sprang over the ring of stones. More and more followed. A great host of wargs had gathered silently and were now attacking them at once.

Gandalf released the owl into the air and strode forward, holding his staff aloft. "Fling fuel on the fire!" cried he to the hobbits. "Draw your blades and stand back to back!"

The hobbits watched from the safety of their circle as Aragorn passed his sword through the throat of one huge leader; with a great sweep Boromir hewed the head off another. Beside them Gimli stood with his stout legs apart, wielding his dwarf-axe. The bow of Legolas was singing.

In the wavering firelight Gandalf seemed suddenly to grow: he rose up, a great menacing shape in the darkness. Lifting a burning branch from the fire he strode to meet the wolves. They whimpered from the force of his power. High in the air, Gandalf tossed the blazing brand. It flared with a sudden white radiance like lightning and his voice rolled like thunder.

"_Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan I ngaurhoth!_" he cried.

There was a roar and a crackle, and the tree above him burst into a leaf and bloom of blinding flame. The fire leaped from tree-top to tree-top.

Suddenly there was a startling cry, and out of a burning tree, a dark disjointed shape, big and black, came soaring overhead and disappeared into the night. This frightened the company, for no one knew what manner of creature could ride the wind with speed that fast, and utter a cry so terrible as to send chills down their spines. Even Gandalf, for he did not realise the company was being spied on, and if it weren't for his burning flames, no one would have.

His fire seemed to frighten the wargs as well, as the whole hill was crowned with dazzling light. The swords and knives of the defenders shone and flickered. An arrow of Legolas kindled in the air as it flew and plunged into the heart of a great wolf-chieftain. All others but one fled; an either very brave, or very stupid wolf rushed towards the Fellowship and with a great leap jumped over Aragorn and Boromir, his intent was the ring-bearer, and he would have ripped him to shreds if Frodo hadn't learned to fly in the last second.

Gimli threw an axe into the throat of the beast as the rest of the Fellowship watched Frodo in horror, struggling in the talons of the great owl.

"We should not have trusted that beast," growled Gimli.

But he was wrong, as the companions discovered a moment later; the owl, with Frodo clutched firmly in her pincers, swooped down and gently dropped him on the ground, then flew to rest on a boulder near Gandalf.

The company didn't know what to make of this, and they looked to Gandalf for guidance. But it seemed even he could not make heads or tails of this peculiar bird, and he joined the others in their staring.

"This is a most unusual owl," he said, to the vexation of the entire Fellowship. "In fact, I am beginning to suspect that it's not a bird at all."

"A shape-changer then," offered Aragorn.

"Quite," said Gandalf, and he lifted his staff and pointed it at the bird. "Reveal yourself!" he demanded, a great power in his voice.

The owl pierced him with a glare.

Gandalf mumbled something and poked at the bird with his staff. It screeched at him, and, to the astonishment of the company, turned its back in a deliberate and obvious dismissal of the wizard.

"Well then," Gandalf humphed impatiently. "I shall have to do it for you." He raised his staff, lining it at the bird, and began to chant.

Before he even finished his verse the owl spread her large wings and flew over his head, toward a heavy tree limb that was illuminated by Gandalf's fire. The Fellowship turned to watch its progress and was stunned when it landed on the outstretched arm of a black-clad figure, dressed not unlike Gandalf, complete with robes and hat. The odd duo then set to a strange ritual where they cooed, chattered, and rubbed up against each other. Was this another owl shape-changer in its natural form?

Shifting slightly on the branch it was crouched on, it lifted its head and the members of the Fellowship were pierced with the most extraordinary emerald eyes any of them had ever seen, set in a pale face. They were framed with round, thin sorts of apparatuses that sat just in front of the eyes. Black, wavy locks brushed past his eyebrows and fell a little ways passed his chin.

Those who didn't spend much time with elves thought he must be one of their kindred, while the others that did, wondered was sort of new creature now roamed Middle-Earth.

The figure straightened to it's full but rather middling height, and as fast as quicksilver Legolas, startled at the sudden movement, strung a bow and let it fly at the stranger, even as Gandalf shouted "No!"

Just as quickly, the stranger lifted a small stick and, as the missile flew towards his throat, muttered an unknown word. With a _clang,_ the arrow struck an invisible shield and bounced off to the side.

There was silence in the clearing for some time after that, until Gandalf stepped forward in an attempt to communicate with the stranger, who was quite clearly now a wizard, no matter how unbelievable the fact. Of course Gandalf had never met two of his brethren, and this deceptively young looking Mage might be one of them, despite the fact that he was led to believe all the Istari were in the guise of old men. Besides, he felt great power in the stranger, but no underlying evil, and for Gandalf, that was enough to trust him.

"I am Gandalf of the colour Gray " he told his fellow wizard. "Who might you be? And what might your level be that you are clothed so? I never knew there to be a Black Istari before."

Harry watched as the old wizard stepped forward and gesture to himself before saying something the language that sounded so familiar but utterly incomprehensible. Every once in a while, a word would stick out, sounding exactly like an English word, but she had no idea if this was because of coincidence or this world spoke a variation of English. In fact, Harry didn't understand anything of what had been happening to her the entire night.

First she saw bunches of the biggest crows and wolves in the world, then she was frightened out of her sleep and nearly burned to death from that old wizard's spell – really, in what way did starting a forest fire defeat your enemies? – then the old man had tried to poke and prod at Hedwig, and Harry had been shot at! With an arrow no less! By a glowing man who looked like he'd been snatched out of a Robin Hood musical! And the arrows didn't exactly disabuse that assumption either. Harry thanked the powers that be that her Quidditch talent derived from natural reflexes; otherwise she'd have been dead with an arrow stuck in her throat right now.

It was in this agitated frame of mind that she concluded that she'd obviously landed in a primitive world whose motto seemed to be _kill first, ask questions later. _And after all that violent trouble, now the wizard was attempting to talk with her? Harry was tempted to behave like Hedwig and dismiss them completely, but she supposed she would have to respond if only to make sure they didn't come at her, swords swinging.

The young wizard shared a sour look with her owl, who was holding herself stiffly on Harry's forearm. Harry ran her fingers through Hedwig's plumage while she wondered how they would have a proper conversation when they didn't speak the same language.

The young wizard tossed her owl into the air and jumped from the branch she had claimed, years of escaping Dudley by any means necessary allowing her to land on her feet with a dull _thud. _Straightening from crouch she assumed upon landing, Harry carefully approached the cautious group, doing her best to ignore the ready weapons.

"Harry," she said, stepping further into the light and gesturing towards herself. It was a starting place at least. She gestured to the older man and tilted her head in question.

The old wizard's face showed a bit of surprise – probably the fact that Harry couldn't understand the language – but he responded none the less.

"Gand-elf," he said, pointing to his chest. Then he gestured in turn to each of his companions, saying their names, and having them bow in response. The dwarf was Gimling, the glowing man was – _snigger_ – Legless, and the two muggles were Aragorn and – and . . . Bore-me-dear? They were all strange names, to be sure. But then, Harry _was_ in a new world. She told himself not snicker out of respect of the inhabitants, and somehow she managed it.

The four little people were . . . well, the only names that she could repeat reasonably were Sam something-or-other and _Frog_-o. As for the rest, he couldn't discern them. The little people themselves all looked so much alike – from their hairy feet to their curly locks of hair – that Harry couldn't hope to guess which was which. Actually, they kind of reminded her of house-elves – which she _still _had trouble discerning male from female let alone individual names – what with all the bobbing and bowing they were doing.

After the introductions were concluded, Legless, Gimling and the muggles turned to Gand-elf and started talking quickly with him. They sounded irritated, and they kept casting suspicious glances Harry's way. Gand-elf was shaking his head and every so often he too would turn to look at Harry, but understandingly rather than suspiciously. Harry could only hold herself still and look at nonthreatening as she could.

Finally, he beckoned an astonished Harry over, to the obvious protests of the rest of the group. It looked like she and the rest of the group wouldn't be having slumber-parties anytime soon.

Gandalf had been suitable surprised at discovering the unknown Istari did not speak the Common Tongue. That implied that he was not from Arda, which compounded Gandalfs curiosity of him; how did he come to be here, since he was clearly from far away? Then Gandalf's surprise had grown when he realized that the black wizard was even younger that he originally thought, looking like a boy still in his childhood, yet to have his first shave. The appearance of a young man Gandalf could understand, the race of Men would more readily accept help from one that looked as able-bodied as themselves, but what was the use of looking like a child? To deceive the enemy?

Gandalf had never before puzzled out such a riddle.

Timidly, Harry shuffled along and came to stand nearer to the old wizard; maybe he decided to give her a chance? In a flash, Gand-elf raised his staff and pointed it directly at Harry, who could only think she had to be stupid to fall for something like this again. In a great, booming voice the wizard shouted an obvious spell, causing Hedwig shriek and to take furious flight into his face, and Harry to fall over and go temporarily blind.

The next thing Harry heard was a voice asking if she was all right.

"My head's all dizzy," she mumbled, hold said head, delicately in her hands. Merciful Merlin, she felt as if some fool had overturned a Penseive full to the brimming of gelatinous memories into her ear while she had be unaware, and now they were oozing and bubbling around in her brain, trying to go back into a semblance of order, even though they were in the wrong head. And that she could be so descriptive while so mentally water-logged spoke for how alien the new information was.

_Wait a minute._

"A bit of dizziness is to be expected," said Gand-elf, looking down at a wide-eyed Harry with kind, old eyes. Harry noted that he looked a bit scratched up around his face and hands while Hedwig fluttered over from where she had been clawing at his hat to land on her shoulder and began preening Harry's hair.

"How did you –?" Harry began, before abruptly cutting off in wonder. "I can understand you now!"

"Yes, yes," said Gand-elf, leaning on his staff, a hand patting at where Hedwig had been attacking.

"Though, it is exceedingly odd that you couldn't before."

"What's he saying?" Pippin blurted, looking from one wizard to the other.

Gandalf frown at the question. "Whatever do you mean? Are we not speaking the Common Tongue?"

"_You _are," Pippin answered. "The other fellow is speaking something else."

Harry looked about in confusion, wondering why she couldn't understand what the others were saying. She had thought she could suddenly speak the language of this world but maybe it was Gand-elf that had learned to speak English.

"Um," Harry started, drawing the attention back to her. She looked at the other wizard. "What happened?"

"I made it so that you could understand Westron, the most commonly spoken language in Middle-Earth. Or," Gandalf amended. "That was my intent. It seemed the spell did not completely succeed. My companions tell me that to them, you are still speaking your own language, while I am speaking Westron. It seems that the only one to endure any change is me, for I understand you perfectly at this point in time."

"But I was the one that was struck by the magic," Harry protested. "Obviously I am being effected as well. I _know_ I am since this flow of speech is unlike how I have spoken before; it's rather unsettling. Maybe as we speak, you are pulling knowledge of my language into yourself so it seems to you that we are both speaking this _Wes-tron_."

Gandalf hummed in acknowledgment of this theory, stroking his beard. "I did not consider that as a possibility; this has never happened before to any other I have granted the speech of the Common Tongue."

"I doubt you have ever done such a thing to another wizard before; maybe this is common among magic-users."

"You make a valid point."

"Enough of these pleasantries, Gandalf!" burst out the dwarf. "Who is this child?"

"We have yet to get to that."

"Well, get to it then! He could be a spy for the enemy," growled Gimling with axe in hand. "Why else would a child be so far away from civilization like this? And unable to speak Westron? It's a plot to trick us!"

Harry climbed to her feet at the aggressive tone; she didn't want to be unready if she was attacked. An arrow, an axe and two swords immediately followed her ascent.

Harry gulped against a dry throat, eying the steely edges of the weapons, and the steely eyes of their owners, then looked hesitantly at Gand-elf. "It might be worth noting that when you were not talking directly to me, I didn't understand what you were saying. Could you tell them that I don't know what I did to make them so angry with me but I don't mean any harm?"

Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow at that but dutifully relayed Harry's words. Neither Gimli nor Boromir would be assured.

"He speaks as if an enemy would not make precisely the same assurance!" Boromir roared. "But how else would anyone that's not out to do us ill find us when we are so removed from any village?"

Gandalf translated Boromir's accusation and Harry frowned. The strange mind magic effecting her was tapering off and she began to feel more like herself. "You make it sound like I stumbled onto you on purpose; as if I was looking for you or something. I'd been wandering around this area for almost the whole day and eventually made camp a bit off. I was woken up by wolves howling and decided a tree would be the safest place to sleep until I was sure the wolves had left. I had thought to approach you for help since I'm rather lost but that you lot were camped nearby was pure chance."

Harry huffed as the group of suspicious men did not seemed inclined t believe her. She continued, "I wasn't even going to approach you tonight but it seems my owl, Hedwig, decided that now was as good a time as any."

Gand-elf frowned slightly at her words and focused on the last part. "So, this Hedwig is actually a bird?"

"Er, yes. I mean, what else could she be? She could hardly be a fish, could she?"

Gand-elf looked a little flustered. "Well, we were under the impression that she was a shape-changer . . ."

"Oh, I suppose someone who's never met her might think that but no, Hedwig's just really smart, is all. Is that why you attacked her before?"

"Attack is a rather strong word," Gand-elf hemmed, drawing wondering looks from his companions. "I was merely attempting to make her assume her true form. I realize now that it was for naught."

"Alright, then," Harry proceeded carefully. "Look, I'm sorry, but I really need to talk to you alone."

"Talk to me alone?" Gandalf echoed curiously. He would have assumed that being the only one to understand the other wizard would be privacy enough.

"Why alone?" said Gimling, gruffly, taking hold of the word suspiciously. "You think to lure him into an ambush, spy?"

There was a mumbling of agreement between the two muggles and Legless at this.

"My companions still insist that you are a spy," the Gray wizard told his younger counterpart apologetically.

"I'm not a spy," said Harry through clenched teeth, thinking she'd like to tell the dwarf just where he could stick his axe. "In fact, I don't even know what you're talking about!"

"Just the thing a spy would say!" said Gimling at once.

Harry wasn't entirely certain what the dwarf said but it sounded like an outright dismissal of her protest without even considering it. She turned back to Gand-elf and glared. "I'm not a spy, and I don't understand why everyone keeps insisting that I am. Do you accuse every innocent passerby of spying? And why would anyone want to spy on you in the first place?"

Gand-elf's enormous eyebrows shot up. He turned to his companions and hurriedly spoke to them. Harry hoped it was to tell them to get their heads out of their arses.

Gandelf kept growing more surprised and confused as the conversation wore on. This Harry was a complete enigma and seemed to believe that _they _were the ones being incomprehensible. From how he spoke, he seemed completely ignorant of the brewing war and of the ring. But how could that be?

An awkward silence followed, with neither side knowing how to continue the conversation with violence taking part.

Harry sighed and said, "I have to talk to you about . . . well, about wizardly matters, alright?" The little people looked scared when Gand-elf translated this. Harry paid them no attention. "If you choose to tell your friends about what we talked about later, you can, but I'd like a conversation free of interruption."

The group waited with an anticipatory build up of tension as Harry left Gand-elf to ponder her words. She stalked to the other side of the clearing and made her way behind a large boulder. If she had looked behind her at that moment, she would have seen the wizard verbally restraining the group. As it was, Harry was spared that offensive sight and few seconds later Gand-elf and Aragorn joined her behind the boulder.

"Why's he here?"

"Aragorn has been elected to stand watch over our conversation and he would like to know what you find so important to tell me. I trust him not to be overtly troublesome. Also, he would have your magic stick." Gand-elf gestured to Harry's right hand where Harry was tightly clutching her wand.

Harry's grip redoubled it's efforts. "I'm not giving him my wand!"

Gand-elf looked at her sternly. "Remember, we do not know you. These are troubled times. And it is only for safekeeping. We saw the potential your magic unleashed when you conjured that shield. If that little staff helps your power along, then we, as a whole, only have the right to take it from you during your questioning."

So basically, Gand-elf was telling Harry that there were more of them then there was of her, and that it would be beneficial to her health if she gave his wand up without complaint.

What choice do she have?

Reluctantly, Harry handed over her precious wand to Aragorn, who took it with the tips of his fingers, as though it might shoot out a spell if he manhandled it.

Gand-elf, nodding approvingly, settled himself cross-legged on the ground, and pulled out the longest pipe Harry had ever seen from out of his robes. He lit it up with an equally long matchstick of sorts that he must have brought from the campfire, and sat there puffing for a few moments, apparently completely comfortable with the situation. Aragorn followed Gand-elf to the ground, Harry's wand now sticking out of his belt once he'd realised that it wouldn't do him any harm.

Harry watched all this with dubious eyes as she settled her bottom on a patch of squishy grass. They had not hesitated in labeling her an enemy, so where were the threats from Aragorn? Where was the good cop/bad cop routine? The atmosphere wasn't even tense. What ever Harry thought, she never suspected he'd find himself sitting comfortably on the ground, as though out on a Sunday picnic.

"Er . . ." she began finally.

Gand-elf and Aragorn stared at her expectantly.

"I suppose I should begin then? Er . . . well . . . I guess I should start by saying that I come from a different world." She chanced a glance at the other two to find Gand-elf with his eyebrows raised passed his hairline, pipe lying forgotten in his lap, and Aragorn watching her with narrowed, disbelieving eyes.

"Er . . . you have heard of different worlds, right?" Harry asked hopefully.

"I have never heard of such a thing," Aragorn said, with a shake of his head. "But then I am not a wizard, and am not knowledgeable in such matters."

"Wizards," Gand-elf said, still staring oddly at Harry, "are not knowledgeable in such matters either."

Harry's stomach dropped. Did Gand-elf not believe her?

"However," Gand-elf continued, now chewing at the end of his pipe, which had gone out, "it is said that the Valar themselves can travel to different worlds. To journey passed the stars and the heavens, arriving at different pastures . . . So what you say is not unheard of."

Harry's heart leaped. He believed her!

"What I do not understand," sustained Gand-elf, leaning forward and speculatively looking over Harry's face, "is how a wizard could have the power do so. Unless there is more you have to say?"

Harry tried not to look guilty. "Yeah, there is. I mean, I personally didn't do anything to come to this world. It was an inter-dimensional whirlpool or something like that. At least, that's how my professor described it. I was chosen by the forces of the universe for reasons I don't know and was tossed into this world by a lightning bolt."

The two men blinked. Obviously, her description was lacking.

"Alright then, um . . . okay then." Harry drew a breath. It was probably best to start from the beginning "Where I come from, there's a whole world full of wizards and witches, probably around a million of them in fact!" Gand-elf's pipe dropped from his mouth to the ground and he rapidly translated Harry's words to Aragorn who looked equally shocked. Harry pretended not to notice. "I go to a place where wizard's are trained at magic until we're old enough to make our way into the world."

"And this world is full of wizards? No elves or dwarves or hobbits?" asked Aragorn.

"I'm not sure what a hobbit is. We have house-elves but I suspect they aren't at all the same things. We do have dwarves, though. We have hundreds of other magical creatures, too. Oh and muggles, of course." Harry saw the questioning looks of her two companions. "In my world, Aragorn would be classified as a muggle because he has no magic in his blood."

Gand-elf and Aragorn developed dawning expressions. "Ahh, mug-_ales_ are your race of Men then," Gand-elf stated, knowledgeably. "But what I find most fascinating is that wizards are a race unto their own."

This time it was Harry that looked puzzled.

Gand-elf explained, "In Middle-Earth, there are only five wizards. Our levels of magic are distinguished by the colour robes we wear, white being the most powerful. I am Gandalf the Grey, for instance. But a whole world full of wizards, I have never imagined. How do you keep stabilized? What stops you from warring each other?"

"We do! War, that is," Harry explained. "Actually, at this moment, there's a Dark Lord about to terrorize the magical and muggle communities."

Both Aragorn and – Gand_alf _wasn't it? – seemed to sit up at this.

"You have a Dark Lord in your world as well?" Aragorn asked.

"Well, yeah. I mean – " Harry froze. "You don't mean to tell me there's one here too?"

"Our world is plagued anew with a Dark Lord. Sauron is his name, and his armies are most fearsome. He has amassed orcs and goblins and wraiths to be the downfall of Middle-Earth . . . " Gandalf stared not so much _at_ Harry as through him.

Harry gulped. "S-so this world I'm in now is called Middle-Earth?"

Gandalf nodded, picked up his pipe, and started chewing on the end again. "If you would explain to us how you came to be in Middle Earth . . .?" he prompted.

Harry briefly told them Dumbledore's explanation, including the fact that whatever it was chose a wizard specifically and wouldn't leave him or her alone until it transported them to a different world.

"But Dumbledore said he's going to try and bring me back, because I don't belong here. He's a really powerful wizard, so he can do it."

There was a somewhat confused yet contemplative silence behind the boulder, until Gandalf cleared his throat, looking as though he'd just uncovered the answer to a particularly harrowing riddle.

"If the occurrence happened as you say, then I do not think your arrival in our world was an accident. It chose you specifically. And the fact that you came across us straight away – "

"But that's the thing, I didn't! I had no idea which direction I was traveling and I landed on top of this mountain first. There was a blizzard –!"

"How long ago did you land on that mountain?" asked Aragorn, looking anxious.

"Er . . . some time this morning, I think," answered Harry, who couldn't see what this line of questioning had to do with anything.

Aragorn looked triumphant. "We were on Caradharas Mountain this morning, in a blizzard. We near departed this life when a great lightening bolt burst forth from the sky and stirred the snow to fall down on us."

"Yes, we thought it to be Saruman at first – an enemy – but it could just as believably have been you. And that means that I was correct the first time. That _thing_ bought you to Middle Earth for a purpose. You will join the Fellowship."

Aragorn tensed suddenly, and started jabbering away at Gandalf. Now that she had more time to think about it, she was starting to think it was Old English they were using. Fascinating. Harry got the impression they were arguing. And what was a Fellowship?

"Excuse me? But what am I supposed to join?"

Gandalf and Aragorn paused in mid-argument and looked towards Harry.

"Gandalf, you would endanger the Fellowship like this?" Aragorn whispered, disbelieving. This was a situation far beyond anything the ranger had been prepared for.

"I would not!" snapped Gandalf. "Harry is clearly not an enemy. You know this. You must also admit that he has been sent here to help us. That he is a wizard should be proof of that. But what force of power bought him to us only the Valar knows. In fact I suspect it was them, or something aligned to them that sent him here."

Aragorn looked properly chastised.

Gandalf turned back to Harry and said, "I believe you to be sent by the Valar to assist the Fellowship in our quest."

Harry asked doubtfully, "What's the Valar? And what's the Fellowship?"

"They created Middle-Earth and its people. They send protectors to defend and guard it. I am one of those protectors," explained Gandalf. "And the Fellowship is of a ring. The One Ring, to be exact."

"A fellowship of one ring?" repeated Harry uncertainly, thinking that Gandalf had smoked one too many pipes.

Aragorn coughed behind his hand; he could tell Gandalf was conversing with a skeptic. The Gray Wizard sighed impatiently. "Rather, it's The Fellowship of the Ring," he said, then went on a lengthy twaddle on the history of Middle-Earth, its people, Sauron, the one ring, and the Fellowship.

Harry's head was buzzing with Gandalf's story. And she'd thought Voldemort was bad? Well, he might be a lot worse magic wise – this Sauron bloke did sound a bit put down – but Voldemort was clearly a lot weaker supporter/minion wise. This Dark Lord had armies, with thousands of flesh-eating creatures in them. And those wraith things sounded too much like dementors for Harry's liking.

"And that is why I believe you were sent to the Fellowship specifically. You were meant to help us," Gandalf finished and drew a long drag from his newly lit pipe. This didn't do him too well, though, since he started hacking straight afterwards. Probably his throat was already dry from talking so much.

"If you give me back my wand, I could conjure some water . . . " Aragorn handed Gandalf a bladder from his belt, presumably filled with some sort of liquid. " . . . or not."

Gandalf handed the bladder back to Aragorn after taking a gulp, then turned to Harry looking a bit puzzled.

"You can conjure water?"

"Yes, can't you?"

Gandalf looked taken aback. "No, I can't. I can manipulate the elements; create a pond from a dewdrop, a forest fire from a burning branch, that sort of thing. But I cannot summon it out of thin air. We are clearly wizards of different moulds. I had suspected as much with that shield you created to halt the arrow. This only confirms my belief. Aragorn!" said Gandalf at once, causing Harry to jump. "Give Harry his stick back."

Aragorn plucked the wand from his belt, and with an apologetic sort of look, handed it back to Harry, who pocketed it.

"Right then," said Gandalf, standing up. "It is high time to properly introduce you to the rest of the Fellowship, I think."

The Company was in a state of a mixture of disbelief and fear, though, the latter emotion was expressed in the way the little people all stood together in a huddle, and Legless, Bore-me-dear and Gimling all fingered their immediate weapons. They clearly didn't know what to make of this Wizard-From-Another-World, as they had taken to calling her. Well, at least it was a sight less embarrassing than the Girl Who Lived.

Gandalf had – to Harry's embarrassment – told them everything, including the fact that her magic was different from his, and probably far more potent in that way. The Fellowship had all looked to a red-faced Harry with awe, confusion and incredulity then, measuring her up to see whether Gandalf really was telling the truth, then dismissing Gandalf's idea because of how young she looked.

When Gandalf told them Harry was joining the Fellowship, Harry had to scramble back because the anger emitting from Gimling, Legless and Bore-me-dear, and the panic emanating from the little people was so potent, Harry swore she could feel it prickle her skin.

Gandalf snapped at them, then reminded them of the circumstances of Harry's arrival and how she was a gift from the Valar, and a couple of other things Harry didn't understand, but it must have convinced the Fellowship because after that, even Gimling didn't grumble, though he did cast Harry probing looks from time to time.

After the initial explanation was over, the Fellowship, which now included Harry – though, grudgingly – settled themselves around the fire and proceeded to fall asleep. Harry and Legless kept awake, however. Legless because he was on watch duty and Harry because she was wishing desperately for Hedwig, but knew the owl relished the free open space this world provided her, and wouldn't come back anytime soon.

Harry also felt like reading, since she couldn't fall asleep, but that would mean she needed to light her wand, and she didn't think the rest of the Fellowship were entirely comfortable with her and her magic just yet. She wished this world had battery powered torches.

'_Then again,'_ she thought with a snicker, _'I don't__ really need light since I could just use the glow emanating off of Legless.'_ He was certainly bright enough.

Not for the first time did Harry wonder what exactly Legless was. He was certainly pretty, the petty, girly part of her that she usually ignored wondered if he was prettier than her, but then again, that long, blonde hair of his really did make him look like a girl. What if he was a Veela? Perhaps this world hosted male Veela's, just like Harry's bore only female ones. It would certainly explain his other-worldliness. But then Harry shouldn't talk, being from another universe and all. The Fellowship probably thought she looked extra spooky. Suddenly, Harry decided that she couldn't blame them for being defensive, especially when there was a war going on.

She sighed miserably.

She wanted Hedwig.


	4. Of Monsters and Men

**AN: **I had some questions after the last chapter about The Fellowship not realizing Harry was a girl and why she wasn't behaving or thinking more femininely. I actually have a sub-plot concerning her mistaken gender further into the story (look forward to that) so please don't think I've just been inserting feminine pronouns willy-nilly, just for the heck of it. As it is now, I feel I should explain some things to you.

Forgive me, I tend to ramble. I promise not to make a habit of novel-length a/ns.

1)Yes, Harry is supposed to be mistaken for a boy, I made her a bit of a tomboy exactly for that reason; they think she's like the wizards of their world who assume the form of old men, or in her case, a young boy. Such a medieval world with very defined gender roles like in Middle Earth would hardly have many men – however freedom-fighting and good the Fellowship are – that would expect a teenage girl to be just as capable as any boy. If they knew right off the bat that she was a girl, they'd hardly be as casually brutish as they have been and they would be planning to drop her off that the nearest village where she could 'tend to hearth and home.'

In the books – and I challenge you to read them again if you don't believe me – the main women were either placed on a pedestal so high, she wasn't consider a regular person (Galadriel); a passing side-note that came to take her place as trophy wife in the end (Arwen); a daffy peasant that was only good for healing (some old woman who I can't even remember the name of, she was that unimportant); and a damsel, pining after unrequited love, who only proved to have some worth after her deus ex machina moment (Eowyn). I know that in the movies, the sexism is turned down, but that is the world of LoTR.

2) A blushing, stuttering twit of a girl would be a useless tool in the Potterverse, let alone Middle Earth; this is exactly why Lavender and Parvati were never important characters. GirlHarry is more or less exactly the same as BoyHarry, discounting, of course, the plumbing, the wiring of the brain, and female experiences. Harry Potter, abused orphan who's had to fight for her life, has very little space in her mind for girly insecurities. This story takes place after the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries, Harry is too caught up in trying to defeat Voldemort, grieving for Sirius, and now surviving in a foreign reality to gaze dreamily at Legolas' super-hot bod. Oh, sure, she notices, but there are more important things to think of.

My own principles with gender equality colours my writing, but I don't see why I can't write a story where my female main character could easily be switched into a male character with the story remaining the same if I wanted it. I'm only writing fem!Harry in this case because I understand female thought-process better.

And to the guest reviewer, **Acier Damac: **I was originally going to just beta-edit the original story so it wouldn't be so painful to read, like it was in first few chapters, and repost it in the proper cross-over section, since it isn't listed with the other LoTR fics. My own ideas will be scattered throughout the original, but the majority of my own writing will come in where the original story left off.

And now I return you to your regularly scheduled chapter:

**Chapter Four: Of Monsters and Men**

There had only been one time in Harry's entire life when she'd actually seen a dead person up close. The handsome Cedric Diggory – the one she had a bit of a brush on – had even died in front of her, dropping straight to the ground like a stone plunging into the ocean. She had seen Sirius die, but that wasn't the same thing – he hadn't left a body behind; it was more that Sirius had been taken far away and would never return. Now, only a few weeks after her godfather's demise, Harry hadn't thought she would have to witness a death so soon, and one that reminded him so much of Cedric's, too, so sudden and unexpected.

Legless.

He was dead.

Harry had awoken that morning to a small film of sunlight seeping over the horizon, shining faintly past the tiny leaves of the trees and casting odd shapes on the sleepers in the clearing. It seemed a perfectly tranquil setting, with no indication of the tragedy Harry was about to witness. No one in the Fellowship had troubled to wake themselves yet, except Harry, and as soon as she did, she wished she hadn't, because she'd immediately spotted a dead Legless.

Legless had been lying stiffly on the hard, cold earth, eyes wide, glazed, unseeing . . .

It was then that Harry had started panicking. Some _thing_ had crept up to the Fellowship during the night and murdered Legless on his watch duty!

Harry didn't know what sort of creatures lurked in the night in Middle Earth, so her mind traveled – subconsciously – straight to the magical creatures on her own world that could have been responsible for this. Her immediate thought had been a lethifold. They were rather like dementors, in that a Patronus could stop them, and that they projected the feelings of horror and despair. They were just the sort of creature that could have killed Legless without attracting anyone's notice. Silent and deadly were the lethifolds, preying on the unsuspecting.

As soon as Harry had come to that conclusion, guilt had settled like a fiery rash in the pit of her stomach. If only she had been awake! If only she hadn't gone to sleep! If she hadn't been so tired, could she have heard Legless being attacked?She knew how to cast a Patronus; she could have defeated the lethifold, stopped it before it snacked on Legless.

Harry's panicked mind, which hadn't fully woken up until a full minute later, then fell into a forced calm as she tried to think logically. She couldn't be one hundred percent sure that it was a lethifold, could she? It was likely they didn't even exist in Middle-Earth, and even if they did, she wasn't any more at fault than any other of the Fellowship who also hadn't been awake to save Legless. She wasn't to blame just like Sirius' fall wasn't her fault.

Then, once Harry's panic attack was completely over, she awkwardly, reluctantly, stood on shaky knees and made her way over to Legl – the corpse. There was no use in thinking of the body as a person still when the person inside was gone. Harry stood staring stupidly, disbelievingly, at the dead man at her feet. How could this have happened? Why did it happen? Why now?

What if the Fellowship thought _s__he_ had done it? They would certainly be suspicious if it; they already suspected her of spying as it was. Harry gulped against a suddenly raw throat at the sight of Gimling's battle-axe in the corner of her vision. Would the dwarf be happily cleaning Harry's blood off the sharp edges in the near future?

Harry gave herself a good, hard pinch. She was being stupid. They wouldn't blame her. Gandalf trusted her, after all. Gandalf would believe her.

Her decision made, Harry shuffled silently over to the snoring old wizard and peered speculatively down on him. His large wizard's hat lay on top of his face but despite that obscurity, he still looked a lot like Dumbledore. Perhaps it was a common theme for wizards to fit into this stereotypical image? Long white hair and beard, long crooked nose, spectacular robes that brushed the ground. Though, Gandalf's could hardly be termed spectacular. Monkish, would be a better description.

Harry ran her hand through her short hair and gave it a good tug. What was she doing? Stalling for time? Actually, now that she thought about it, it seemed she was doing exactly that. Nervousness didn't even cover Harry's feelings in that moment. Potential trouser-wetting might better describe her state of mind. She wasn't even surprised to feel her hands had gone all sweaty.

Harry took a deep breath, then leaned over to nudged Gandalf with her hands. The wizard made a sort of mumble in his sleep, but other than that, he showed no indication he'd felt Harry's hands on his shoulder.

Harry pouted but tried a different tactic: She leaned forward again and plucked Gandalf's hat off of his face. If that didn't wake him then –

Harry jumped back in horror, nearly tripping over her own feet.

Wide, unseeing eyes, cold and hard . . .

He was dead!

Was everyone dead then? Harry quickly scoured the camping area, and to her relief, found the gentle rise and fall of breath on the rest of her companions, indicating that, yes, they were still very much alive and, no, she didn't need to drop to the ground like a wailing tot.

But wait! Something didn't make sense. Hadn't Gandalf been snoring? Harry looked down at Gandalf and, yes, he still was. Without noticing her actions, Harry reached up and scratched her head in that universal gesture that smacked of confusion and dumbness, the first time Harry was ever forced to put on such a display.

What was going on?

Harry looked from Gandalf to Legless, repeating this motion three more times, then finally stopping to peer intently at the glowing man. Was that a rise of his chest she just saw? _Yes_.

He was alive! Harry felt like whooping!

. . . and then she felt like an idiot.

Obviously, in Middle Earth wizards and what ever Legless was, slept with their eyes open, no matter how odd it seemed.

She felt like a right sort of numbskull. She may as well bash her head over repeatedly with a sign that read: 'Really stupid twat here! 2 pounds for admission.'

Harry snorted. That would be a sight many would pay to see. The Girl Who Lived, publicly humiliated, even more so than before. Fudge would certainly dance to that.

Harry shook her head at the absurdity of her relieved thoughts. She had no cause to think of Fudge now. She had no cause to think of any of the problems she had while on earth. As a matter of fact, here, in Middle-Earth, she was free! No one knew who she was! No one knew she was famous; no one would stop to gawk, rudely pointing at her forehead. No one here knew about the Girl Who Lived and why she lived. And most importantly, they didn't care!

Harry's stomach gave a pleasant jolt that traveled up her chest and into her heart. She was finally a nobody and she loved it!

A large weight landed on her shoulder, talons digging uncomfortably, though familiarly, into her skin.

"Hello, lovely." Harry gave Hedwig's wing an affectionate stroke.

Hedwig rubbed her head against her cheek, all the while making a low, almost indistinct rasping noise, presumably out of pleasure. An owlish purr perhaps.

"You're awake early; did you get any sleep in?"

Hedwig hooted. Loudly.

Harry wasn't prepared for the reaction it caused.

Legless sprang to his feet with an odd flexibility Harry had only ever seen in frogs, whipping out his sling and arrows. Gimling shot up from his pallet, snatching his enormous axe, and stood with legs apart, breathing gruffly. Both the muggles rolled over and reached for their swords, not quite as fast or sprightly as Legless and Gimling, but fast enough to surprise Harry. Gandalf jumped up as well, but he held his staff parallel to his body, as if knowing that there was no real danger.

By the end of this stampede of action, everyone besides Gandalf had aligned their weapons straight in Harry's wide-eyed direction, looking like they might make use of them at any moment. The little people, however, snored on, oblivious to the raging conflict.

"Uh . . ." said Harry.

There was a small twitter in the distance as a bird greeted the new day.

"Put your weapons down!" snapped Gandalf. Clearly he was not a morning person. Harry absently noted that she now understood what he meant even though she didn't know the words he used. How very odd. She'd have to tell him later.

The four men obliged, but Legless, Gimling, and Bore-me-dear did so with great reluctance and a lot of grumbling – which came mostly from the dwarf. Aragorn was the only one who looked abashed.

"Well, this is certainly a festive way to start the morning!" exclaimed Gandalf, frowning a little below his eyebrows. "We shan't have another spectacle like this tomorrow, shall we?"

Everyone, including Harry, mumbled their apologies.

"Where's the breakfast?" a sleepy voice asked. "Don't tell me we're on our way, now. I haven't eaten anything yet!"

"Peregrin Took!" Gandalf exclaimed in exasperation. Harry almost snorted. "You would think of your stomach even if death were upon you." Peregrin Took grew distinctly red in the face. Gandalf continued. "But you are due to wake up now, and wake you will, yourself and the others."

The little man jumped to Gandalf's suggestion, first going to the chubby little darling called Sam – the mushy part of Harry admitted that all four of them really were quite adorable – and fairly ordering him to start breakfast, then went to nudge the rest from their sleep.

Half an hour later, Harry sat near Pippin – which she found out to be Peregrin Took's nickname – and another little person called Merry around the morning fire, enjoying a meal of hot sausages, cheese, tomatoes, and homemade bread. The sausages weren't bad either. They reminded her of Hagrid's the first time she and Harry had met in that hut on the sea.

Pippin and Merry were chattering gaily, every once in a while making a comment in Harry's direction, not letting her feel left out even if she didn't understand them very well. She appreciated how they didn't act awkwardly around her.

"Gimli is a dwarf, in case you didn't know," Merry said, waving about a sausage. Harry cocked her head at 'Gimli'; there was a word she recognized! "They're very strong you know, dwarves I mean – "

"Well they'd have to be Merry," said Pippin, in a half knowledgeable, half mischievous tone. "D'you see how big that axe is? Almost the length of me; give an inch and take off the bit that severs heads and the measure would be the same."

"Right you are, Pip!"

Harry sniggered at their cheery banter.

"D'you see that now? You made him laugh at me!"

"Well if he laughs it's nobody's business but his own."

A few words would jump out at her here or there, making her increasingly frustrated. Gandalf had said she was sent by the Valar to help the ragtag band on their quest, but she could hardly be as effective as she could be if she couldn't understand them.

Harry carefully placed her plate next to her on the boulder she was sitting on before leaning over to nudge a stone into her hand. She brushed the dirt off of it while her small companions looked on. She lifted the rock so it was easier to see and held it up to the one called Pippin.

Pippin looked at her, and then down at the rock in confusion before turning to Merry to share a bewildered look.

"D'you . . . d'you want me to take it?" Pippin asked, hesitantly reaching out. Harry saw what he was going to do and shook her head, pulling the rock away.

Harry pressed a hand to her chest and said, "Harry." Before they could ask, she pointed at the nearest small person and said, "Pippin," and hardly pausing before pointing and saying, "Merry." Then she held the rock up again and pointed at it, looking at them expectantly.

"Oh, I get it now!" Merry cheered. He pointed at the stone in Harry's hand and said, "Rock."

"Rock," Harry echoed and smiled briefly in accomplishment before reaching out for the next nearest inanimate object. She held up the plate she had previously set down.

Pippin caught on and said, "Plate."

They continued their simple game of Harry repeating whatever the two said, moving about the camp and pointing out the various things laying around. They received indulgent looks from Gandalf and the other two little people, Sam and Frog-o, and blank looks of caution from those that were still uncomfortable around Harry.

The green-eyed wizard found that the more someone spoke to her in Westron – and she was doubly glad that theses particular someones were Merry and Pippin since they spoke quickly and therefore double what other someones would speak – the more she started understanding; now instead of just bits and pieces like last night and earlier this morning, chunks of phrases now made sense. Maybe Gandalf's language forcing spell was delayed because of how it reacted with her magic? Add on top that she was also learning by parroting her perky teachers and Harry was ready to give the _lingua franca_ of Middle Earth a spin.

"What you?" asked Harry slowly in tentative Westron. "Er – What _are _you guys? I am wizard but not know what are you."

Harry was rather proud that she managed a sentence even if it was in broken Westron but wondered if that had been too rude a question. Fortunately the hobbits didn't think so. On the contrary, they seemed to get excited.

"Look how well we're teaching 'em!" Merry crowed, preening in the direction of their watchers. He turned back to Harry and said, "Well first of all, we aren't _guys_, whatever those are. We, my good sir, are hobbits," concluded Merry in a very formal tone and knuckling his forehead.

"_Y__ou _are hobbits," said Harry with dawning comprehension in her eyes. "But also, you are guys."

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I think I would have known if I was a guy," said Pippin.

Harry huffed in amusement. "'Guy' is also word for 'man'. You are guy, Legless is guy, Gandalf – "

Harry stopped abruptly because Pippin and Merry had cracked into full-out laughter.

"What?" Harry ask. Had she accidentally made a joke?

"L-Legless!" said Merry, barely managing to gasp the word out, then went on chuckling.

"That his name, yes?" asked Harry, her tone hopeful and embarrassed at the same time.

"No, Harry," said Pippin, managing to calm down somewhat. "It's Le-go-las. But I see where you got confused. Elvish names can be a muddle in the head, my head anyway."

"Everything's a muddle in _your _head, Pippin," Merry said.

Before Pippin could open his mouth to reply, Harry jumped in. "I think maybe I confuse more names, too," she admitted.

"Not to worry," said Pippin, with a sly look at Merry, and for a split second Harry was reminded of the Weasley twins. "Just tell us the ones you think you got wrong, and we'll help you."

During the course of the next two minutes, amidst uproarious hobbit laughter, Harry discovered that his _Frog-o_ was actually Frodo, _Bore-me-dear_ – This one had them crying and holding their guts while the man in question looked on in a mixture of amusement and anger – was Boromir, and _Gimling_ was Gimli, though, the last one wasn't much of a difference in Harry's opinion.

Then she remembered something. "What do you mean when said 'Legolas' elvish name?"

Pippin answered with a mouthful of bread and cheese. "'ell, 'e's an ef, 'arry. I taut n'dalf shai' eu 'ad evs in or world."

"What?"

Pippin gulped down his food and cleared his throat. "I said he's an elf. How could you not know? I thought Gandalf said you had elves in your world."

_An elf? _

"We have elves but they not look like Legolas."

Pippin frowned, puzzlingly while Merry looked up in interest. "What do they look like then?"

"I think they are not the same. They are maybe this tall," Harry held her arm out more or less the same height as the hobbits.

The two hobbits started sniggering. "Imagine that, Merry. Elves in Harry's world are the size of hobbits."

"I think they are not the same," Harry repeated, certain in her thoughts that house-elves and whatever kind of Elf Legolas was were as closely related as a fish was to a moose. "At home, they are very small, have big eyes, big ears – "

"Sounds like a baby goblin to me," Merry interrupted, a keen look in his face.

"Have goblins too but very different to House-elves."

"Why do you call them house-elves?" asked Pippin.

Harry wasn't sure if it was a good idea to go into greater detail about house-elves. It certainly wouldn't sound good if she were to explain their lot in life to people who have never met a regular house-elf in all its joyful, work-frenzied rapture. If Legolas was an elf, he was clearly from a race of free elves and wasn't treated at all like the elves in Harry's world. No point in bringing up trouble and offending people.

"Just what they are called," she told them.

Sam abruptly appeared before them, holding a quarter full plate of sausages. "Would you like some more, Mister Harry? They have to go now or they'll spoil."

Sam, thought Harry, was the one reminding her more and more of a house elf.

"No thank you, I am done."

Merry and Pippin however, looked delighted. "Gives them to us then, Sam!" they said, and snatched the remaining sausages from the plate. Harry had a feeling they often pilfered things without permission.

Sam squawked. "I was just going to ask Gandalf if he'd like some more. Thanks to your greedy guts, I've nothing but an empty plate to offer him."

"Better an empty plate than nothing at all," said one or the other. Harry wasn't too sure which since she was busy smothering her laughter.

"What's this?" said Gandalf, coming from his boulder to hover over them. "Cease this folly, Peregrin Took! You as well, young Master Brandybuck. Why aren't you ready? We are leaving. Samwise, should you pack Bill, or should we leave without him?"

"Bill!" Sam exclaimed, and rushed off to tend the pony.

"The rest of you should best gather your belongings," said Gandalf, and walked off to the huddle that was Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli and Legolas.

The rest of the next few hours passed in much the same manner, with the hobbits teaching Harry little words, though, by the end of the morning, nobody really had time to talk much; they were too busy trying to catch their breaths.

Up, down, and in between small grassy hills they went, across boulders, through tree clusters, and passed lonesome landmarks every once in a while. For miles they traveled, Harry wishing she could ride her Firebolt, but feeling uncomfortable about traveling in relative comfort while the others trudged their way on foot; it felt rather like cheating. Not to mention her taking off from the ground would likely start a panic and Harry wouldn't put it pass Legolas to shoot her full of arrows in the confusion.

Still, as they traveled until well into the sun's zenith, Harry wondered when they were going to stop for a rest and some food. Pippin sadly informed her that they weren't going to stop until nightfall, something he had learned the hard way, it seemed.

But Harry had another problem; she needed the loo. The last time she had been was probably a day ago, so she wasn't exactly surprised but that didn't mean she had to welcome it.

What to do?

Every now and then, she would spot one or two of the Fellowship dropping behind, presumably for the chance to use the back of a tree, but Harry was neither very outdoorsy nor a boy, and even if she had been, she would have been just uneasy since she'd hardly be the type to boldly walk up to a tree and water the plants without a care in the world.

If only she could set up her tent again and use the loo there! That was one of the main reasons she brought the thing along, so she would always have a proper bathroom. Should she risk it? Harry wasn't sure if she wanted the others to witness more of her unusual brand of magic. If she dropped back now, to get a safe distance away so they wouldn't see her tent, everyone would know what she was doing. They might even stop, too, as they did with the hobbits, to assure there was no danger, completely negating the point of Harry dropping back in the first place.

And even if they didn't want to assure she stayed safe, she couldn't guarantee someone wouldn't follow her, perhaps on the thought that they might as well utilize the opportunity. Harry had a sudden image of Gimli squatting behind a boulder, hacking the leaves off the nearest tree with his axe, then putting the leaves to their much needed use.

Harry shuddered and cursed her vivid imagination

Then there was also the awkward fact that Harry didn't feel at all comfortable with the Fellowship, besides Gandalf, Merry, and Pippin, whom she liked very much. An unfortunate majority of the dangerous ones – unfortunate majority, as in all of them – had tried to kill her after all.

A moment's deliberation yielded no alternative plan. She gripped the inside of her cloak and sucked in her bottom lip. There was nothing for it; she would have drop back.

Harry casually, and quite surreptitiously, so as not to cause notice, began slowing down. Half an hour later she was near the back of the group and getting desperate.

_'Just a few more minutes, Harry. Hold on for just a few more minutes.'_

But Harry had forgotten something; the person bringing up the rear of the group was Boromir, hardly Harry's best friend. Highly suspicious, highly muscled, and – Harry could help but take a whiff as she stepped in line with the weapon-clad warrior – highly odorous.

_'Sweet Merlin, why hasn't deodorant been invented yet?'_

How was she ever going to sneak pass Boromir's notice? Harry put her hand in the pocket of her robes and fingered her wand. Should she?

Well, it _was _an emergency.

Her mind made up, Harry slipped her wand from out of her pocket and discreetly pointed it at the sword sheath tied to Boromir's belt.

"_Descendo,"_ she whispered. The tie unlooped itself and the heavy weapon clattered painfully onto Boromir's feet, causing him to yell out and stumble a little. Harry took the opportunity and shot off into a thick copse of trees the had just passed while the big man's attention was elsewhere. She hadn't counted on Boromir yelling out in pain and she was lucky she had gotten out of there before anyone turned around.

She dearly hoped no one noticed her missing.

A few minutes later, Harry stepped back out into the open, satisfyingly relieved and face freshly washed. She jogged to catch up with the rest of the Fellowship. They hadn't gotten very far, and Harry knew the two reasons why. The first was that the hobbits couldn't walk as fast as the rest of them, so the Company deliberately slowed down as not to leave any behind. It made for a leisurely walk, but meant that they wouldn't be getting to their destination anytime soon. The second was because it was past lunchtime and nobody really felt like rushing anyway, being too tired from the long trek as it was.

Just as Harry stepped behind Boromir, Merry asked, "Oh, Harry, I thought we'd lost you! Where were you?"

There were a lot of heads turning every which way as the Fellowship tried to find her. Finally, Boromir turned about and found himself with a face full of teenage girl.

"What are you doing back there?" he asked in, Harry's opinion, an excessively mistrustful tone. She shrank back, and shuffled closer to the hobbits, unwilling to seem confrontational to a person that swung his sword freely.

The rest of the Fellowship paused and turned.

"Shoelace," she lied, hoping there were such things as shoelaces in this world. "Also rocks in my shoes."

Boromir glared at her, but other than that, he gave no indication he might believe Harry. In fact, he turned right around and continued walking, the rest of the Fellowship doing the same.

Harry meandered along with the hobbits, thinking she had to be stupid to use magic on Boromir when she could have just used the excuse of tying her shoelace to lag behind in the first place.

The rest of the day continued as before, although with less cheer since the hobbits were too winded to be in high spirits. Gandalf and Gimli led the troupe nearer to a particularly cluttered group of mountains. As they came closer, the ground grew less green and more red, and the trees virtually disappeared. No birds dotted the sky.

Eventually, they came across a deep channel in the ground, as dry as sandpaper. But near it was a path, broken and decayed, winding its way around the ruined walls and paving stones of an ancient highroad.

"Ah! Here it is at last!" said Gandalf, stopping briefly to stare. "This is where Sirannon, the Gate-stream ran. But what has happened to the water, I cannot guess; it used to be swift and noisy. Come! We must hurry on. We are late as it is."

They followed the winding road for many miles, Harry feeling footsore and tired. She was used to hard physical labor and insurmountable chores but her endurance had never been tested like this. She covertly wiped sweat from her brow.

_'How much longer?'_

They rounded corners and veered off in all directions until Gandalf finally pointed to a low cliff with a broken and jagged top. Over it, trickling water dripped through a wide cleft.

"Hmm," said Gandalf. "Indeed things have changed since last I was here. But if I remember correctly, there was a flight of steps cut into the rock at the side. Let us go and see if it is still there."

They found the steps, everyone besides Gimli slowly trudging up them. Harry learned, by questioning the hobbits, that Gimli's cousin or something lived to where they going, and that was why he was so excited. Finally, they reached the top of the steps, only to found that the cliff where the water was trickling out of wasn't a cliff, but a dam.

"Now we know where the Gate-stream water went!" said Gandalf, frowning a little.

The water, Harry saw, looked like a black, ominous lake. And at the back of the lake were vast stone cliffs, their faces pale and scraggly in the fading light. It looked like a dead end to Harry.

But not to Gandalf, it seemed. "There are the walls of Moria," he said, pointing across the water. "We will have to either produce a boat or go up the slopes to get to the other side of the lake. In any case, we cannot take Bill."

Sam cried out his protest in distress.

"Confound it, Samwise Gamgee!" snapped Gandalf, tired from the long trek and losing what little patience he had. "The beast has four legs and hoofs. He cannot climb the slopes."

Sam grudgingly complied, and went to get the packs from the pony's back.

Gandalf's expression softened. "He will be safer away from here, Sam. He knows the way home. He will be alright."

Harry thought she heard Sam sniffle.

As Bill the Pony trotted off the way they came, Gandalf led the group up the slopes – "We might as well climb to the sun," grumbled Merry – then down the slopes – ironically, Harry almost lost her hat while tripping over her shoelaces. By the time they reached the narrow strip of land between the cliff face and the lake, it was completely dark, the light of the moon their only beacon in the night.

They made their way across the strip. Harry jumped in alarm when she heard a loud 'plop' directly on her right. She then soon after sighed in relief; a fish had just flopped in and out of the water.

The rest of the Fellowship however, grew wary, staring intently at the black pool as it bubbled unnaturally where the fish landed back in.

Harry gulped. Was that supposed to happen?

Suddenly, Frodo, who was walking in front of Harry, slipped on the wet mud on the lake's banks, his foot plunging into the water. Harry shot forward and caught him before he became completely submerged.

"Thank you, Harry," he said, staring at the water and shuddering.

"No problem," Harry said uncertainly, stepping back from Frodo. Something wasn't right about this hobbit. He gave Harry an ugly feeling. Harry felt as though she wanted to be completely away from him, but completely near him at the same time. Perhaps it was that ring thing Gandalf was talking about?

They trudged onwards a little ways and came across two of the biggest holly trees Harry had ever seen; their gigantic roots were submerged like two great claws into the lake. Miraculously, on one of the branches of the trees, looking quite at home and completely comfortable, sat Hedwig.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried, and as the astonished Fellowship watched, the owl swooped down and landed on Harry's shoulder.

"How did she know to find you?" asked Legolas, coming to stand next to Harry.

Harry shrugged, stroking Hedwig's feathered breast with her knuckles. "Hedwig is very smart."

Then the Fellowship watched in complete speechless bafflement as Hedwig thrust out her chest importantly, and began to preen her feathers.

"It seemed as though she was waiting for you. She truly is a remarkable bird," said Legolas, staring in awe at Hedwig, the rest of the Fellowship mumbled their agreement.

Harry, meanwhile, was enjoying the novel experience of being completely looked over. As Harry Potter, never had she ever been completely dismissed and looked at with uninterested eyes; she rather enjoyed her unimportance in this universe. That Hedwig was getting her due admiration was the icing on the cake.

Gandalf stood between the holly trees, running his hand over the cliff face. "Well, here we are at last!" he said. "Here the Elven road from Hollin ended. The Elves planted holly on the West-door, for holly was the token of their people. Those were happier days, when there was still friendship at times between folk of different races, even between Elves and Dwarves." Gandalf looked pointedly and Gimli and Legolas.

"It was not the fault of the Dwarves that the friendship waned," said Gimli.

"I have not heard that it was the fault of the Elves," retorted Legolas.

"Be silent!" said Gandalf, and everyone looked startled. Gandalf seemed to be a lot crabbier than usual that day, and even the littlest slight set him off. "I am not in the mood for your bickering," he continued. "I will need your help before the night is out. The doors are shut and hidden, and the sooner we find them the better!"

Gimli moved forward, tapping the stone with his axe, Legolas leaned against the rock, as if listening. Gandalf however, stood there staring at it. "It mirrors only starlight and moonlight," he mumbled. Walking up to the stone, he ran his hands over it, as though tracing patterns. "Can you see anything now?"

To everyone's surprise, something like a silvery, gossamer, spider's web began forming, until it merged into the unmistakable shape of a doorway. Runes ran down the side and across its arch.

"What does the writing say?" asked Frodo, who looked like he was trying to read the inscriptions on the arch.

"They do not say anything important," said Gandalf. "They only say: _The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter._ And underneath that is written: _I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimor of Hollin drew these signs."_

"What does it mean by _speak, friend, and enter_?" asked Merry.

"That is plain enough," said Gimli. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and you can enter."

Personally, Harry thought it was too obvious, but didn't say anything.

"Do you know the password, Gandalf?" asked Boromir.

"No!" said the wizard.

The others looked dismayed.

"What then was the use of bringing us to this accursed spot?" cried Boromir, glancing back with a shudder at the dark water. "You told us you had once passed through the mines. How could that be if you don't know how to enter?"

Gandalf let out an angry expulsion of breath. "I don't know the password, but I shall know it. I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Middle Earth. It will come to me. And as for your other question," he continued, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Have you no wits left? I did not enter this way. I came from the East."

Boromir went rather like Ron did when he grew embarrassed.

Gandalf touched the rock with his staff. "_Annon edhellon, edro hi ammen! / Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen!"_

Nothing happened.

An hour passed with Gandalf reciting various spells from several languages, and still nothing happened. Finally, Gandalf threw his staff on the ground and, grumbling, plonked down on a nearby rock.

The Fellowship stared with disappointed.

Suddenly Pippin leaped to his feet.

"I know!" he said, excitedly. "Why doesn't Harry try?"

Everyone, including Gandalf, turned to look at a flummoxed Harry.

Harry shifted uneasily where she had seated herself on a convenient boulder. Somehow she doubted the unlocking spell would be of much use. Would her magic be able to interact with the enchantments here to begin with?

"Harry?" Gandalf prompted.

"Er . . . well, I suppose I can give it a try. I mean, I know a spell to open locked doors but I'm not sure how much good it would do on such a heavily bespelled entrance . . ." she trailed off as the Company, who were beginning to look hopeful, deflated again.

"Give it a try anyway, Harry," said Gandalf. Pippin pushed her forward to stand in front of the doors, Hedwig's sharp claws clutching her shoulder blade as the bird struggled to keep her balance.

Harry took out her wand and pointed it at the doors, not completely able to ignore the intense looks she was getting. Best to get this over with quickly.

She had just opened her mouth when she felt the faintest tremor wisp through her wand.

_What?_

Not a moment later, the tremor gave way to a violent vibration that had Harry's whole arm shaking with it.

The Fellowship looked on in apprehension. Hedwig hooted.

What was –? Of course! Harry turned her gaze on the holly trees. Could it be, that because her wand was made of holly, it was reacting to the aura stemming from the two trees? Didn't Gandalf tell her the previous day when explaining Middle Earth, that there were some plants here that had their own type of natural magic? Like the plants she studied in Herbology. If that were true, wouldn't it make sense that her holly wand reacted to its Middle-Earthian counterparts?

Harry decided to test her theory.

She took a step back, so that her body wasn't aligned with the holly trees and the palpitations in her wand halted immediately. Harry sighed with relief. She didn't know how much more bizarreness she could take.

He saw Gandalf in the corner of his vision, observing knowingly.

"Are you going to go about it then?" asked Gimli, with an irritated tone.

"Patience Gimli," said Gandalf. "Harry's magic has reacted to the enchantment on the door, just as it was said that it would. But as you can see, it has now ceased. If you would resume, Harry?"

Harry nodded, not bothering to correct Gandalf's assumption. It would be too difficult to explain anyway. Besides, he had come close. Harry pointed her wand at the door. "Alohamora!"

A beam of golden light flared to life from her wand and traveled through the air toward the door. Unfortunately, before the spell could strike, the beam seemed to hit an invisible barrier. The magic crackled, bleeding out in all directions like foreign liquid in water, and dispersed before it could take effect. Harry slumped forward and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

There went that hope.

"There went that hope," Gimli grumbled, unknowingly echoing Harry's thoughts. "I thought Gandalf said you were powerful!"

Harry looked at him angrily but didn't contradict the surly denouncement. She huffed and plopped back down where she had previously been seated.

"Gandalf did say that their magicks were different," Merry said, defending Harry's lack of results while Pippin patted her knee in commiseration. "Maybe he couldn't break through the enchantment because the magic was too different."

"Merry is right," said Gandalf. "Our magicks are each potent in their own way."

A couple of minutes later found everyone brooding again. Harry watched from her spot by the first holly tree – her wand gently trembling in her robe pocket – as Boromir picked up a stone and chucked it in to the lake. The bubbles appeared again as they had with the fish, and this time they didn't go away.

"I wish you hadn't done that," she heard Frodo say.

Gandalf sat with his head in his hands, and looked to be in deep thought. Then he jumped up with a suddenness that startled them all. "I have it!" he cried, laughing. "A riddle. It was riddle all along, and an absurdly simple one." Picking up his staff and lining it at the door he said in a clear voice: _"Mellon!"_

Harry's jaw dropped. The door creaked open, showing blackness inside and nothing else.

"Ha-_ha_!" said Gimli, happily, standing from his seat on a low rock.

The Fellowship strode forward, Gimli in the lead, Legolas by his side, and Harry trundling behind them. Gimli was talking excitedly about, of all things, meat and hospitality.

Suddenly a cry of "Gandalf!" by Sam drew their attention. Everyone turned around just in time to see Frodo, wrapped in a slimy, green tentacle, hanging twenty feet in the air.

Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli rushed forward as Sam hacked at the tentacle with his short sword. It released Frodo into Aragorn's outstretched arms, and for one glorious moment, everyone thought they had won. But then, twenty more tentacles shot out, knocking everyone aside except Frodo, which one of tentacles grabbed again. Along with the writhing tentacles had come a gigantic, slimy head with a wide, cavernous mouth.

The giant squid? What was it doing here? Harry thought stupidly, not realizing the absurdity of her line of questioning.

Legolas strung his bow and let it fly at the head of the squid. It roared frighteningly, but didn't release the poor hobbit. It was Aragorn who finally saved Frodo, chopping off the tentacle that held him and catching the hobbit once again. With that accomplished everyone rushed back into the caves, the slimy tentacles following them. But the monster was too big to enter, and ended up crushing the doors so that the Fellowship found themselves in pitch darkness, the only sound heard was their frantic breaths.

Harry had never felt so useless, angry and irritated in a long while. She had rushed forward with the rest and drawn her wand, intending to blast the squid with abludgeoning hex, when her wand had started vibrating again. Harry, without noticing, had stepped in between the holly trunks. Her magic, it seemed, dried up completely when confronted by the two trees. She had meant to step back into the mine but an extra tentacle had attached itself to her and she was nearly pulled under until the monster was distracted by Aragorn chopping off the limb wrapped around Frodo.

Harry shook her head angrily. What was the point of being a wizard when she couldn't use her magic? Was she always going to have problems of this sort? She hoped she would never come across another Middle-Earthian holly tree, or she might just take up Gimli's axe.

"We have now but one choice," said Gandalf grimly, tapping his staff on the ground so that the crystal on the top lit up brilliantly. "We must take the long, road of Moria. Be on your guard! There are older and fouler things than orcs, in the deep places of the world."

"Fouler things? Would that you had listened to me, Gandalf!" cried Boromir. "Now we are trapped, and who is going to lead us out?"

"I will," said Gandalf. "Just follow my staff."

"If only we had more light," said Frodo, staring around at the preceding shadows with anxious doe-eyes.

Harry was about to take out her wand when Gandalf answered, "No Frodo. Too much light will draw attention to us. Now follow me."

The Company trudged after Gandalf with heavy feet and heavy hearts. It was as they walked under an archway and into a huge cavernous room when Harry realised she'd missed something.

"Hedwig!" she exclaimed, struck with sudden worry.

Everyone stopped to stare back at her.

"She's gone!" Harry continued, directing her frantic speech at Gandalf. "She didn't come into the caves with us. She must have flown out when that giant squid attacked us!"

"She is in a better place than us then," said Gandalf. Then he stared curiously at Harry. "You know what that monster is?"

Everyone listened with curious expressions. Harry was momentarily stumped at the attention.

"Yeah . . . sort of. We have them in my world, but they're not as nasty. There was a giant squid that lived in the lake beside my school." She thought of Dennis Creevey in his first year. "It would rescue people when they fell into the lake . . ." she stopped because everyone was staring at her in complete disbelief. "It's true," she insisted.

"Would that we had met your giant skweed instead of that monster," said Boromir.

"Indeed, that would have made this day less of a hardship," said Gandalf. "Let us be on our way."


	5. When The Battle's Lost and Won

**AN: **Thank you to all those who also gave my other stories a try! Expect another story re-edit of the HPxAddams Family crossover variety soonish.

* * *

**Chapter Five: When the Battle's Lost and Won**

Gandalf sat with knobbly elbows resting on equally knobbly knees, absently smoking his pipe, and staring at nothing in particular. Gandalf rather thought nothing must be full of something at least, if the thoughts currently grinding through his head were any suggestion. The Fellowship sat scattered about the dim cavern they were currently holed up in, patiently – or not so patiently in the case of Boromir who had taken out his sword and was now shadow-fencing to distract himself – waiting for the signal that they were set to move on.

Gandalf was not doing what he was supposed to be doing; what he was supposed to be doing was thinking about which of the three tunnels in front of him would be best to take the Fellowship down into. Instead of his immediate concern and more urgent, he was thinking about the new piece of baggage the Fellowship had picked up.

Well, that was not fair, Gandalf supposed. Harry did not act like any piece of baggage Gandalf had ever come across; he did not slow them down by being cumbersome, unlike some hobbits Gandalf knew; he didn't complain; he hadn't threatened anyone; and he certainly pulled his own weight. Why, just that morning, after their second night of sleeping in the mines, while they were tramping up the steeped staircases of Moria, Harry had saved Sam some future unpleasantness by offering to take his pack from him, so the little hobbit would not tire out by the time they reached the top. Yes, he was quite chivalrous for a young wizard of only three hundred or thereabouts. Gandalf wasn't sure, he couldn't quite guess at Harry's age.

Harry was an enigma to the old wizard. A magical enigma, which made him all the more interesting. And Gandalf was nothing if not interested in magical enigmas. He noticed, for instance, that Harry – whose magic Gandalf was sure could be used for practical purposes – did not exercise his magic at all. In fact, he hadn't tried to employ magic since before that _skweed_ incident when he'd attempted opening Durin's doors.

And if Harry can conjure fire, as Gandalf suspected he could, he might have thought to actually make some occasionally, as the Fellowship had been left without kindling and torches when they had been forced to flee into the mines. Gandalf had not said anything, he assumed Harry had his reasons, or else he was just too reserved to show magic in front of the Fellowship.

But Gandalf could not work this out. He had seen Harry perform some truly amazing magical feats. Conjuring that shield with so little time to spare was one of them, and he could ride the air without wings. Gandalf did not know how this was possible, but he had worked out that it had been Harry who had flown over the wargs and the Fellowship heads with such great speeds from out of that burning tree. How else could he have reached that tree limb without alerting the rest of them of his presence?

Gandalf also noticed that Harry did not act like any young man he had before known. The boy was unaccountably shy in his personal habits, rather like a blushing maid. He did not stop at the ordained time with the others, but made excuses, or else, magicked Boromir's sword to fall onto Boromir's feet for a distraction, so that he could find some private time. Gandalf had been looking forward to seeing how he would cope in the mines of Moria. He had been amused when Harry would proclaim he'd lost his hat around the previous turn, or else his shoelace had untied, despite the fact that Gandalf could see the pointed tip of his hat sticking out from under his cloak, and that his unusual looking shoes were always tightly laced.

This behaviour was most bizarre. Could he not just say he needed some time alone, and that was that? Why all the blushing and hiding from the truth? It did not assist him overmuch with his relations with Legolas, Boromir, and most especially Gimli. They were now even more suspicious of him, being of the mind that he was keeping some great, dark secret from them that he would one day dutifully bestow upon then with a knife against their throats in the dead of night.

However, Gandalf understood that Harry did come from a different world. No doubt things were done, ahem, differently there.

And where was his pack? He had not seen Harry lug a bag of any sorts, yet just this afternoon he had offered Pippin – who, as predicted, was complaining of hunger pains in his stomach – a small cake that, according to the hobbit, tasted of sweet, roasted pumpkin. Where had he been keeping this cake? Certainly not in his back pocket, for he would surely have squashed it by now if that were so. Yet, the cake had been completely whole, warm, and _fresh_ when he'd given it to the hobbit. And unlike being able to conjure water or fire from out of the air, Gandalf did not think that Harry could do the same with solid foods. Water was an element, as was fire, they were made of an entirely different substance than a sweet, roasted pumpkin cake. It was most peculiar.

"Gandalf, Gandalf! There's something down there."

"Hmm?" Gandalf came out of his thinking to see Frodo's curly mane hovering in front of his face. "What was that?"

"There's something down there!"

"Ahh," he was wondering when the hobbit would notice. "It's Gollum."

"Gollum?"

"He's been following us for three days."

"Gollum," Frodo repeated.

"He hates and loves the ring," Gandalf explained. "Just as he hates and loves himself. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play in all this, yet for good or evil I do not know."

"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance," Frodo said quite passionately for a hobbit of leisurely character. Gandalf was surprised; yet he did not think it was the ring's influence, but rather, fear of the unknown Gollum.

"Pity?" Gandalf questioned, a touch of reprimanding in his tone. Then he explained. "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them Frodo? There are many forces at work in this world besides the will of evil. Think of Harry's presence. Surely it was a force of good that brought him to us, right when we needed him? And Bilbo's finding of the ring and you inheriting it, was that not also a force of good? Yes Frodo, Bilbo was _meant_ to find the ring, just as you were _meant_ to have it. And that is an encouraging thought."

Frodo smiled. Gandalf did the same, and as he did so, a smell, or rather, lack thereof, captured his nose.

"Aha!" he exclaimed joyfully. "It's that way!" He nodded his head to the tunnel at the right.

"He's remembered!" he heard Merry say.

"No," Gandalf replied. "But the air down here is not as foul as in the other tunnels. If in doubt Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

The Fellowship marched for twenty miles eastward amidst fissures, splits, and gaps in the rock that showed the dismayed Company that the ground was a very long time away indeed. This march took about eight hours or so, not counting the cracked and winding roads they traversed along, and the brief stops they made for rest. Occasionally Frodo, Aragorn, and Legolas, and of course Gandalf, would hear the patter of footfalls a ways behind them, that they knew was not an echo of their own. Gollum, it seemed, was intent on pursuit. And all four knew he would remain on their path as long as the lure of the ring held him in its golden grasp.

They had marched to the depths of all things – or so it seemed to the Company, who had not had a proper rest since they began marching that morning – when they walked into what felt like a large open room with not much in it. It felt like this because cold, swirly wind, breezed before them like a breath of fresh air after only smelling mustiness and dust for the most part of their trek.

The hobbits huddled together, looking apprehensive. They were sure that this air, despite feeling so refreshing, was only a cover for something dangerous that lurked in the darkness in front of them. It was there to make them believe they were safe, they each thought in their hobbit minds. It was only a trick, they were sure.

The rest of the Company displayed their anxiety by glaring into the foreboding shadows. Gandalf saw Harry in the corner of his eye, place his hand on his pocket, the pocket that Gandalf knew housed Harry's magic stick. The old wizard, though, was completely calm; he knew now where they had traveled to, and what that cold breeze was all about.

"I chose the right way," he told the Fellowship, who looked relieved. "At last we are coming to the habitable parts. But we are high up, unless I am mistaken. From the feeling of the air, we must be in a wide hall. Let me risk a little more light."

Gandalf raised his staff, and as he did so, the glare intensified to enormous proportions, chasing away the shadows and lighting the room so completely that the Fellowship could finally see what had previously been only darkness. Great, fat pillars stretched all the way to the ornamented ceiling and along the polished floor, seeming as if they went on forever.

"Behold the great realm and city of the Dwarrowdelf. And that is all that I shall venture on for the present," Gandalf said, his staff dimming. "Let us unpack now and rest here for the night."

The Company spent that night in the great cavernous hall. All but one were huddled close together to escape the chill of the night air in the great open space. Gandalf discreetly observed Harry's slumbering form from his pallet. Everyone, besides the young Thrandullion, was fairly shivering under his blankets. The hobbits had even huddled together and spread their blankets over on top of each other, in order to get more warmth.

Harry, on the other hand, did not have a pallet nor a blanket, just his black travelling robe, yet he looked to be more comfortable than even an elf would, and most importantly, he looked to be warm. He was not shivering in the slightest, his lips were not blue, and his body was not curled in on itself, as it was with the rest of the group, who all felt the cold. The only conclusion Gandalf could draw was that Harry had used magic to warm himself up.

Gandalf, of course, had never heard of such magic, and again he wondered why Harry had not offered to warm the rest of the Company, as he had with himself. It would certainly put a halt to the continuous hobbit grumbling that was getting on the old wizard's nerves, and no doubt Legolas' as well.

Gandalf reminded himself that Harry was likely still shy, or otherwise intimidated by the Fellowship, probably thinking they would attack him – as they had when first they met – if he dared raise his magic stick to them. Or otherwise he simply forgot to tell them about this _warming_ magic, which was a very dangerous thing to do in these dark, suspicious times. They needed all the aide they could get, after all.

The next morning, after breakfast, Gandalf decided to go on again at once. There was no sense in lingering in this drafty, wide-open chamber, where they were more likely to be seen by unpleasant eyes.

"We are tired, but we shall rest better when we are outside," he told his companions. "I think that none of us will wish to spend another night in Moria." Gandalf saw the hobbits and particularly Harry, nod most enthusiastically at this.

After rolling up their pallets and packing away the breakfast tools, the Company followed Gandalf out of the great chamber and under another archway. They found themselves in a wide corridor. As they went along it, a faint glimmer could be seen up ahead behind a half open door, wooded, and rusted at the hinges. They walked into the chamber. The light they had seen had been daylight that stemmed from a small high window in the chamber. The small strip of sunlight fell slanting down through the window, finally coming to rest upon a rectangular stone structure that could be nothing other than a dwarvish coffin.

They had walked into a tomb.

Many bones and skeletons were laying scattered about the room, as though whoever did the slaughtering held no respect for the dead, and indeed, probably did not. Among the fettered remnants of dwarvish skeletons the Company could also see broken swords, axe heads, cloven shields, and helms, among that which were not only dwarvish in make, but also orcish, with blackened blades and scimitars.

"A great battle has taken place here. There were no survivors, I'm afraid." Gandalf walked towards the sarcophagus. "Here lays Balin. Son of Fundin. Lord of Moria," Gandalf read aloud the inscription on the tomb, the answering sobs from Gimli his only response. "He is dead then. It is as I feared," Gandalf added grimly and unnecessarily.

Harry, Gandalf saw, appeared confused at the proceedings, though, at the same time he looked to be awkwardly sympathetic to Gimli's plight, as if he understood the meaning of death. This, Gandalf thought,was highly unusual conduct for a wizard.

Gandalf looked down and saw, in the bony hands of a dwarvish skeleton, a crumbling book, of which there appeared to be writings in both dwarvish and elvish. The paper crackled as Gandalf lifted the heavy manuscript and turned the pages.

"It seems to be a record of the fortunes or unfortunes of Balin's folk. The first clear word is _sorrow_, and the rest reads, _day being the tenth of November, Balin, Lord of Moria, fell in Dimrill Dale. He went alone to look in Mirror mere. An orc shot him from behind a stone. we slew the orc, but many more . . . up from east up the Silverlode._ The remainder of the page is so blurred that I can hardly make anything out. But I think I can read, _we have barred the gates. We cannot get out. Drums. Drums in the deep. We cannot get out." _The last thing written was in a trailing scrawl of elf-letters:_ "They are coming._"

The Company stood in silent horror at this last statement.

It was piercingly broken by a loud thud, followed by a serious of clattering clangs and scrapes that echoed horribly in the dense stillness of the mines. Gandalf whirled around coming face to face with a sheepish and scared looking Peregrin Took, who stood next to a well.

"Fool of a Took!" he snapped at Pippin, who looked contrite. "Next time throw yourself in and rid us of your stupidity!"

Gandalf had hardly spoken these words, when there came from the depths below them, a great noise, a _BOOM_ that seemed to echo continuously and ominously in the mines, and in their hearts.

"They are coming!" cried Legolas, stringing his bow.

"Who's coming?" asked Harry with alarm, taking out his magic stick.

"We cannot get out," said Gimli, axe raised.

"Trapped!" cried Gandalf. "Why did I delay? Here we are, caught, just as they were before. But I was not here then, indeed, neither was Harry."

The wizard in question looked dismayed at this.

_Doom Doom_ came the sudden drumbeat, now increased in its frequency.

"Who's coming?" Harry asked again, his eyes wide with nervous anticipation.

"Orcs!" spat Legolas, disgust evident on his face.

"Orcs?" Harry injected, a panicked pitch in his voice. "The flesh-eaters? They're here with us? Now? In the mines?"

"Thanks to Pippin," Merry grumbled, sliding out his sword.

"Merlin! Is there anything I need to know about how to kill them?" he asked. Unfortunately, the Fellowship, who were quickly gathering what weapons they would need, were not paying him much attention. "Do they have any weaknesses?"

Gandalf, seeing Harry's panicked stance, took pity on him. "Kill them as you would kill a regular person with your magic." He noticed Harry blanching at this. "The light of the sun also repels them. But I do not know how that little bit of useless information can help you, as there is no sunlight in these accursed mines."

Gandalf half expected Harry to panic at this last statement, but, if anything, the younger wizard developed a dawning expression, before putting on the most determined expression Gandalf had ever witnessed. This was Harry, the Wizard, as Gandalf and the Fellowship had never seen him. Quite obviously he has some sort of magic planned. It should be interesting to view what he had in store for those filthy orcs.

The screeching and thundering was getting closer now. Boromir, in a foolish endeavour, stuck his head out the door, only to almost get it pierced by two orc arrows.

"They have a cave troll," the man of Gondor said grimly, before flinging the door shut. He, Aragorn, and Legolas then threw long, unused dwarvish axes across its holdings. Not that axes could stop a fully-grown cave troll and a hoard of orcs, but it might slow them down enough for the Fellowship to prepare.

Gandalf whirled around. "Protect the little ones," he told Harry, whom nodded determinedly and moved in front of the circle of hobbits huddled by the pillars; his little magic stick – its size belying of the true power it held – raised like the greatest of wizardly rods, and indeed, it probably was.

"Let them come," Gimli growled from his perch on Balin's tomb. "There is one dwarf in Moria who still draws breath!"

And come they did. The screeching of the orc scum was a horrible echo that shivered down the Fellowship's spines. The orcs hacked first at the door, so that they made gaps in the wood. Aragorn and Legolas took this opportunity to launch a few arrows through the gaps. The squeals the Fellowship heard could only mean the arrows had found their mark.

But this brief moment of victory was obliterated when the orcs – who had been hacking relentlessly at the door with their swords – finally cut straight through the barrier and swarmed into the room like a hord of angry wasps that had just had someone trespass on their nest.

A screeching, dark, hideous and deformed sight they were, shaking their ugly manes, madly brandishing their weapons, and bearing their sharp teeth that seemed permanently inked with their black, putrid saliva. They would soon overwhelm the room with their great number, and Aragorn and Legolas abandoned their slings and arrows to fought instead with swords and knives.

They struck. First advancing on Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir, and Gimli. Some escaped the first group and lunged at Gandalf, who parried their killing thrusts with agile twists and turns of his staff and sword. The orcs that trickled past the offensive fighters and sprang at the hobbits and Harry, however, did not make it passed their first attempt at killing.

The group of particularly gruesome orcs – who had that blank look about them – endeavored first to slay Harry in order to get to the hobbits he was protecting. They didn't get a chance. A dome of violet light encircled the huddle of deceivingly little people, and after a few flashes of red light, the orcs were found slumped in awkward sprawls on the ground, their gazes surprised, and their weapons held loosely in their claw-like hands.

The hobbits could only gape at this spectacle, never before witnessing magic used in such a way. Indeed, never before witnessing any such strange magic. They turned to a bashfully grinning Harry with dropped jaws and wide-eyes.

"I think I'll stick with you from now on, Harry," Merry said, still nervously staring at the unconscious orcs and shuffling over to the young wizard. The other hobbits quickly followed suit.

Boromir had just lopped the head off the nearest orc when there came from the door, a heavy thumping noise before the remaining wood splintered as a great, fat club burst its way in. The club belonged to an even greater and fatter, not to mention eye-wateringly smellier, troll, whose tough hide looked like a mixture of damp dung and slimy mucus, and indeed, smelled like it as well. Its little, beady eyes were only comparable to its even tinier brain.

It looked around the room for a moment, blinking stupidly at the Fellowship, before it groaned deafeningly, and charged, its great body jiggling with the movement. Along with the troll had come a second wave of orcs, and half the Fellowship was distracted by them, while the other half attempted to subdue the monstrous creature.

The half trying to subdue the troll were Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, and Aragorn. It would charge at them with its club, raising it in the air before smacking it stone-crushingly on the ground, forcing the four men to scatter. Gimli, Aragorn, and Boromir hacked at the feet of the troll while it tried to whip Legolas – who had moved onto a stone pedestal – with a chain it had found lying on the ground.

Legolas was an elf, however, and he was too fast and agile for the troll's whip, dodging and ducking and swaying out of its path, his long hair flying in all directions. The troll finally made an error while attempting to hit Legolas; the chain curled, instead, around a pillar. The elf used this to his advantage by securing the chain with his foot, and running up it and onto the troll's shoulders, where he tried to let loose a couple of arrows.

Unfortunately, the troll's head, as most heads of trolls were, was made out of the same thick hide that covered its backside, and the arrows merely bounced harmlessly off its skull, forcing Legolas to jump gracefully off the troll and back on the ground.

But by this time more orcs had filtered into the room like liquid in a glass, and the Fellowship was now forced to divide its attention between the troll and the orcs.

Harry however, had had enough. Her earlier panic had bleed away to strategic calm as the battle had awakened her natural self-confidence in the wielding of her magic. If it was true what Gandalf said about orcs being allergic to sunlight, rather like vampires, she had just the spell for them. As the orcs were starting to overwhelm the Fellowship, Harry thrust out her wand toward the ceiling and shouted in her loudest voice, "CURRUS APOLLO!"

A blindness obscured the eyes of the Company as a brilliant golden light erupted from Harry's wand, taking the ghostly form of a chariot on fire, and streaking to all corners of the room, the heat and ray beams frying the orcs where they stood. All that could be heard was a sizzling, shrieking sound, and all that could be smelled was burning orc flesh.

The light finally died down, and the spots in front of the Fellowship's eyes finally disappeared leaving them staring at the charred remains of about thirty orcs. In the midst of these remains, looking even more stupid than usual, stood the troll, who took one look at its fallen comrades before uttering a horrifying roar and turning to the nearest Fellowship member, who happened to be Frodo.

It happened in a split second. The Fellowship could not have stopped it even if they'd tried. The bulbous troll raised its large club, about to swing it down on Frodo's little head. Harry had a brief image of a cowering Hermione and a determined Ron before –

"Win_gar_dium Levi_o_sa!"

Deja vu struck Harry as she thought of her first year. The cave troll even made the same stupid expression as the one in the girl's bathroom had when it found itself without a club. It even looked up at the floating iron mallet above its head in a kind of dumb wonder, as though thinking that clubs didn't usually fly, especially ones only a troll could lift.

"Ghra-auh?" rumbled the troll.

Taking advantage of the troll's shock, Harry jerked her wand sharply downward, directing the giant club as it flew through the air.

_THUD!_

The troll groaned, inducing a little pity from Harry, and collapsed on the ground, its large belly wobbling almost laughingly.

A silence descended in the chamber. It was broken by the dull clatter of the troll hammer as it fell from the air and onto its owner's fat head.

Harry gulped, a victorious thrill churned in her stomach as she turned towards her companions, ready to revel in the satisfaction of a battle well won. But, it was not to be. She looked into the eyes of the Fellowship. The awed expressions on their faces caused her to duck her head down in a feeling of embarrassed anger.

In the wizarding world, she hated being stared at because everyone thought she was some big hero, and now, she felt exactly the same emotions stemming from the Fellowship. Even Gandalf looked amazed, and he was a wizard! But there was another emotion lingering beneath the surface, and Harry was saddened to discover, as he looked into Pippin's eyes, that it was one of fear.

If a group made up of hobbits, elves, wizards, and dwarves should fear someone like Harry, then there really was no hope for her. Likely they would declare her too dangerous and attempt to do away with her as they had before.

At least she wouldn't have to hold herself back anymore, Harry thought, straightening out of the hunch she had recently assumed to look as harmless as possible, staring them down defiantly. No more hiding her magic; if they wanted a fight, she'd give them one and show them exactly why they should fear the wrath of a witch.

"The will of good works in mysterious ways, I always say," Gandalf said.

Harry faltered and let her gaze cool. She hesitantly look to the older wizard and found Gandalf smiling at her knowingly. And after once more perusing the eyes of the Company, Harry finally smiled back, understanding that the old wizard had somehow understood Harry's predicament, and apologized for it. Everyone else looked more relaxed after that statement as well. Pippin even shuffled up to Harry.

"I'll tell you what, Harry," he said, looking up at Harry with eyebrows raised appreciation brightening his visage. "I now declare you . . . my new Merry, new and improved."

"And what's that supposed t'mean?" Merry retorted good-naturedly.

"It means while you're great fun and my best friend, you're hardly knocking down cave trolls and defeating orcs with a wave of your hand, now, are you?"

Nearly everyone laughed. Even Gimli chuckled appreciatively.

"Well, lad," he said in his gruff voice, "It seems I had the measure of you wrong. You've proven yourself more than worthy as a member of this Fellowship." He bowed so low to Harry that his beard brushed the ground, and added, "Gimli, son of Gloin, at your most thankful service."

Harry grinned and returned the bow, knowing that now, things would take a turn for the better in her relationship with the Fellowship.

Gandalf laughed at the Fellowship's still awestruck expressions. "Did I not tell you that Harry has come to us as a gift from the Valar?" he reminded them. Then he grew sombre. "But later for more of this. We must make for the bridge of Kazadum."

They ran through the halls and archways of Moria for the better part of half an hour, the _Doom_, _doom_ of drums, and the screeching of the orcs were always on their heels. They finally stopped at the top of a staircase that was cut from the same rock as was beneath their feet. The steps wound around a corner so they could not see the bottom.

"Lead them on, Aragorn!" Gandalf said, placing a hand on the ranger's shoulder. "It is time _I _performed some magic now." Then he turned back the way they had all come and disappeared around the corner of an arch.

"But – " Harry began.

"Do not worry yourself over Gandalf, Harry. He will be fine," said Aragorn. "Now go!" he shouted to the Fellowship, and they flew down the stairs, Boromir in the lead, Aragorn bringing up the rear.

Boromir was forced to halt suddenly when the stairs around the corner disappeared. He balanced on the edge of a crumbling step for a few seconds before Legolas rushed forward and yanked him back. They fell in a heap onto the ground.

"We shall have to take the long stairs," Aragorn said, coming up behind them. But just as they were going to veer off to the right where the second staircase resided, there came from the top of the stairs behind them a dazzling light, and even more _BOOMS. _A few minutes later, Gandalf came whirling down the stairs and landed face-down on the ground at the Fellowship's feet.

"I've done all I can for now," Gandalf told them, as Aragorn helped lift him up. "But I've almost exhausted my magic. We shall have to make do without light for a while."

"No," Harry said suddenly, taking out her wand. "We have light. _Luminos Orbis_." A ball of warm light grew from the tip of her wand and floated like a star captured within a bubble above their heads. White light, not unlike the one that usually radiated from Gandalf's staff, filled the previously dim corridor.

"Wizard indeed," Gandalf said, smiling. Then he frowned. "But don't just stand here!" he snapped at them. "Go on! Go on! Where are you, Gimli? You too, Harry. Come ahead with me! Keep close behind, all of you!"

They traveled for what seemed like ages, even to Gandalf, who was the oldest among them and had, indeed, seen many an age. Down, up, across crumbling staircases they went. At the bottom of the seventh flight of stairs Gandalf halted.

"Such a heat!" he gasped. "We ought to be down at least to the level of the Gates by now. Soon I think we should look for a left-hand turn to take us east. I hope it is not far. I am very weary. I must rest here a moment, even if all the orcs ever spawned are after us."

Gimli took his arm and helped him down to a seat on the step. "What happened away up there at the door," he asked.

"I do not know," Gandalf answered. "But I found myself suddenly faced by something I had not met before. I could think of nothing to do but to try and put a shutting-spell on the door. But even then the door can be broken by an orcish hoard.

"As I stood there I could hear orc-voices, they shouted _ghash_: that is "fire" in their own hideous language. And they seemed afraid. Something came into the chamber. What it was I cannot guess, but I have never felt such a challenge. It nearly broke me. I had to speak a word of Command, but even then the door burst into pieces, throwing me backwards down the stairs.

"And . . . I am _very_ thirsty," he added tiredly, looking at Harry.

It took Harry a couple of seconds to comprehend the look. "Oh, right," she said, and rummaged in her robes. She produced a small square box. "To warn you," she added in her faltering Westron, looking at the Fellowship. "Do not be alarmed."

The Company watched as Harry placed the small box on the ground in front of him, pointed his stick at it, and mumbled some foreign words. They watched in fascination as the box grew to over hobbit-size so that it now resembled a travelling case. They observed as Harry crouch down over it, unlocked it, and take out a small, drab pouch. Then they looked on in disbelief as Harry stuffed his entire arm in the little pouch.

That is not possible, everyone besides the young wizard thought.

"Here we are," said Harry, taking her arm out of the pouch and holding up a large wooden flask, that, they saw again with wonderment, was even bigger than the bag in which it had resided.

"The water in here is cooler and fresher than I can ever conjure manually," Harry commented, handing the flask to Gandalf. "And there's more water in there than you would believe, so everyone can have a long drink."

This cheered the Company as Gandalf relayed Harry's words, and the flask was passed around for a good ten minutes while everyone quenched their thirst. Aragorn, the last one to take a drink, stood there with the still unemptied flask in his hand, observing it from every angle.

"How is this possible?" he finally asked Harry as he handed back the flask.

"Magic," Harry answered with a shrug.

"Do you have other things in that pouch?" Pippin asked. "Like that pumpkin cake?"

"Took!" Gandalf exclaimed, disapprovingly.

"No, it's alright, Gandalf. And yes, I have a whole barrel of food in here." Harry ignored the dropped jaws. "But I have something better than Pumpkin Pasties." She pulled out a huge block of Honeydukes chocolate. "It's called chocolate. It perks you right up and makes you more energetic."

"Ah!" cried Gandalf. "That is good indeed. We will need all the strength we can get. And you best give the hobbits two helpings each, Harry."

"No problem," Harry said. She broke off pieces of the chocolate and handed it to the Fellowship.

"But this is delicious," Legolas said, after first declining the offered chocolate, and then at Harry's encouraging nod, accepting it. "I have never tasted anything of the like."

"I think the plant only exists in my world," Harry said absently to Galdalf when he asked about what it was made of, wondering when cocoa beans had first been discovered and who had invented chocolate.

"Plant?" Pippin echoed, chocolate smeared at the corner of his lips. He reassessed the chunk of mouth-watering confection in his hands. "Are you saying this is a vegetable? Why can't the vegetables _here _taste this good?"

"It's a . . . " Harry searched for the word but couldn't think of it.

"Don't be silly, Pippin. It's probably made from whatever plant Mister Harry mentioned. Apple pie is made from apples and grain but it's hardly a vegetable, now, is it?" Sam turned to Harry and smiled. "I bet my folks would love this; you'll have to show me how to make it, Mister Harry."

"Er, I don't know how," Harry told him, scratching the back of her head. "Someone else made the chocolate, and I just buy it."

"Ah," said Gandalf understandingly. "You buy this choke-let at the markets, then."

"Something like that, yes," Harry said.

Everyone munched on their chocolates for a couple of minutes, forgetting for a moment, the orcs behind them. Then Gandalf turned to Harry, looking serious. Everyone watched interestedly from their positions on the steps.

"Harry I want you to be honest with me," Gandalf said, looking into the younger wizard's eyes.

Harry opened her mouth, looking offended. Gandalf didn't give her a chance to speak.

"I know you have been honest with us so far, you have not lied to us, but have you been telling us everything? You have been very secretive and I understand it has been for good reason but I have been wondering . . . were you the thing that flew out of the burning tree when the wargs attacked?" Harry stiffened at this. "We thought it to be a spy of Sauron at the time, but it was you, was it not?"

Everyone stopped munching, looking between Gandalf and Harry.

"Yes," the younger wizard muttered reluctantly.

"There is no cause for you to be embarrassed, Harry. I only ask because I have never known any with such a skill. You can fly then, can you not? Wizards in your world can fly?"

Gandalf watched as Harry's eyes flitted about nervously before he finally said, "Yes," in the softest voice, that only Gandalf who was sitting next to him, and perhaps Legolas with his elven hearing, could hear. "Well, sort of," he added. "Wizards in my world can only float by our own designs but we can fly by using devices, such as enchanted broomsticks and carpets. I was on a broomstick when you saw me that time."

"A flying broomstick?" queried Gimli after Gandalf had translated Harry's words at the hobbits' urging. "Whoever heard of such a thing?"

Harry fidgeted. "Common where I am from." She turned to address Gandalf. "I could show you if you want."

"Another time perhaps, Harry," said Gandalf, head whipping toward the direction they had come from with an anxious look. "Now we must deal with those loathsome orcs sniffing at our heels. We have rested here long enough. It is time to go onwards."

They had run straight out for about twenty minutes when Gimli, with his dwarf eyes that could see in the dark, spotted something in the darkness ahead.

"It looks to be light," he said. "But it is not daylight. It is red."

"_Ghash,_" muttered Gandalf. "I wonder if that is what the orcs meant: that the lower levels are of fire? Still, we can only go on."

As they traveled deeper into the mines, the air became very hot, and the red light intensified. They stopped at yet another arch, Gandalf stepping through, the red light briefly illuminating his face. Just as quickly he stepped back.

"There is some new devilry here. I know not what, but I feel it to be worse than even a hundred orcs. But one good thing I have seen. We have reached the First deep, the level immediately below the Gates. The Bridge of Kazadum is about a quarter mile further than that. Our journey through the mines is almost over."

"Good," gruffed Gimli. The others looked at him with some surprise. "This excursion has not been what I had imagined. I would rather feel the sun shine on my face than endure more of this darkness."

"You soon shall, my friend," said Legolas. "And even more than that, you will see the Golden Woods of Lothlorien. It is there, I am told, that the sun seems as if it shines perpetually, even at night."

"Glad I am to see the two of you extending the hand of friendship, but it is now time to continue," said Gandalf, and he gestured to the Fellowship to follow him through the arch.

It seemed like a monstrous chasm to the Fellowship. Pits extending deep into the ground glowed an eerie red that only a large fire, consumed with the reflection of shadows, could produce. Along the middle of the cavernous chamber, there were great-conjoined pillars, like the buttress roots of trees, and on top of the pillars ran a pathway. Sometimes a crack could be seen on the road, where hot wafts of air and red light spurted out.

It seemed, to some of the members of the Fellowship, as though they had come to the very base of Mount Doom. To Harry, it looked like they marching into Hell.

"Quietly now," Gandalf said. "We do not want to attract any orcish attentions. Harry, dim your light, we do not need it now. And stay with the hobbits."

But he had only just finished speaking when the _DOOM, DOOM_ of drums sounded behind, ahead, and all around them.

"Tis too late for quiet!" declared Boromir, looking frantically around.

"Run then! Run!" cried Gandalf, and he led them across the hellish path.

The chattering and screeching of the orcs could now be heard coming from the far left walls of rock. A couple of arrows that came swishing down on them further proved the orcs' presence. One even found itself stuck in Gandalf's hat, where it rested like a dashing black feather. Another struck Frodo in the chest, and for a split second the Fellowship thought he was done for, but the arrow merely pinged off to the side.

Gandalf was not the only one whom turned to Harry, thinking it was he who put up a shield to halt the arrow. But he merely shrugged at them looking confused, clearly expressing that he did not save the hobbit.

Hobbits, quite a few of the Fellowship thought as they turned to gaze at a sheepish sturdier creatures than what they appeared to be.

As the Company ran along the path, they found themselves having to jump over relatively small fissures occasionally. They had already leaped over two such splits in the road when they came upon one that was too large for hobbit, and indeed even dwarf legs to jump over. The littler folk would have to be tossed across the gap.

And so it was with Legolas jumping over first, followed by Gandalf, and lastly Boromir, who tucked a Merry and a Pippin beneath each arm before leaping. By this time the path on either side of the gap began crumbling, before falling completely down into the fiery pit. The breach, now, was larger than it began.

This did not deter Gimli though, who, about to be tossed by Aragorn, exclaimed with all the obstinate pride of his people, "_Nobody_ tosses a dwarf!" and sprang out on his stout legs, almost, but not quite making it across the gap. If it were not for Legolas' hand flashing itself out to take hold of Gimli's flapping beard, the dwarf would have followed the path of the crumbling road.

As it was, he still found time to shout, "Not the beard!" evidently valuing the fur on his face more than his own life, as was typical in all dwarvish customs.

Harry was next to leap over, though, she first had to step back a few steps, taking a deep breath and telling herself not to look down in order to do it. Her wand still in her hand, she muttered, "Levioso," as she took a running jump, and veritably flew across the gap. She sighed in relief when she made it safely across.

Aragorn then tossed Sam across the breach, just in time too, as the road further crumbled, forcing the last two members of the Fellowship to leap back, or otherwise fall to their doom. The gap was now so large that even a troll could not have jumped over it.

The rest of the Company stared in dismay, now certain that Aragorn and Frodo, the two most important people in the Fellowship, were permanently stuck on the other side with orcs, trolls and Valar knew what else. And to make it worse, the entire road beneath Frodo and Aragorn's feet began shivering dangerously, apparently not having had to bear anyone's weight in a long while.

"Harry!" Legolas said suddenly. "Could you not use your magic to help them?"

Harry brandished her wand. "Only one at a time!"

Aragorn, who had heard Harry from the other side yelled, "Frodo first then, Harry!"

Harry nodded and pointed her wand. She shouted, "Accio Frodo!"

The hobbit cried out in surprise as he found himself suddenly whooshing rapidly across the gap and into Gandalf's outstretched, and very relieved arms. The Fellowship then turned to watch Aragorn's plight. They saw, horrifyingly, that the giant pillars holding up the road across the gap finally exhausted themselves, taking the road, and the possible future king of Gondor, down with them into the chasm.

All Harry could think was '_Sirius'_, as the summoning spell fairly roared out of her mouth. Three angst filled seconds later, they all saw Aragorn soar up from the depths in front of them, and land bone-jarringly on the path by their feet.

Harry winced. "Sorry," she said. That landing certainly sounded unpleasant.

But Aragorn smiled up at her. "I am not," he told Harry, as Legolas helped him up. "I thought I was done for. You have saved my life, and for that I will always call you a friend."

Harry smiled back.

"Now is not the time to linger!" Gandalf said a mite snappishly. "We must be on our way!"

They fairly flew down the path, avoiding yet more orc arrows, but this time Legolas shot back, and in true elven fashion, he found his mark every time. They ran until they came to the end of the path, where another hall, though much less great than the Dwarrowdelf, stretched like a ford of black water before them. And beyond that, a little higher was –

"Look ahead!" called Gandalf. "The bridge is near! It is dangerous and narrow. Built in case of attack from the eastern side. Alas that the dwarves did not think to build the same defence at Durin's Door! Now lead them on, Gimli! Harry, stay by my side, I may need you yet."

They ran to the bridge, hundreds of orcs now following in their wake. Suddenly, Legolas cried out. They turned their heads and saw behind them, two more trolls, these ones lugging heavy catapults. But that was not what had made Legolas shout in fear. For out of the dark behind the hoard of orcs came a shadowy figure, large, and wreathed in flame. In one hand it held a blade of fire, and in the other a whip of many thongs.

"Ai! Ai!" wailed Legolas. "A Balrog! A Balrog is come!"

"_Ghash_," Gandalf mumbled, faltering. He closed his eyes and leaned heavily on his staff, now, more than ever before, resembling an old man. "Now I understand. What a misfortune. And I am already weary. This foe is beyond any of you; run!"

They ran, not the only ones doing so. For the orcs took one look at the Great Demon and, screeching, disappeared to their many holes in the rock of Moria.

Losing one foe, only to gain an even more frightful one did not escape the Fellowship's notice. And they wondered, with dread, what this one was capable of. Finally they came upon the narrow bridge, the hobbits crossing first, the rest following. As she reached the other side, Harry realised Gandalf wasn't with them.

"Gandalf!" she heard Frodo cry.

Harry turned with dread, knowing what she'd see, but still wishing it wasn't so. Gandalf stood defiantly in the middle of the bridge, his staff raised against the monstrous Balrog demon, which hovered threateningly on the other side.

"You can not pass!" Gandalf cried.

The demon made a sort of sniffing sound; looking, Harry thought, a lot like Lucius Malfoy had as he glared down at a cowering Dobby.

Gandalf, however, was certainly no Dobby. He raised his staff even higher and spoke: "I am a servant of the secret fire. Wielder of the flame of Arnor. The dark fire will not avail you!"

The Balrog raised its fiery sword high in the air and brought it down hard on the old Mage. There was a blinding flash and Harry was certain that the next thing she would see would be two halves of one Gandalf. But as the light cleared Harry saw, with amazement, that the wily old wizard had conjured a light blue vapour that formed a protective shield around himself.

The fact that the Balrog had not been successful in its severing attempt only seemed to anger it, and this time it bought its whip into play, splitting it ear-wincingly through the air.

"He cannot stand alone!" cried Aragorn suddenly and ran back along the bridge. "_Elendil_!" he shouted. "I am with you Gandalf!"

"Gondor!" cried Boromir and leaped after him.

Harry thought for a second then shouted, "Hogwarts!" her wand raised. In the back of her mind, while she charged forward to help her companions, she couldn't help but feel exceedingly silly using her school's name as a battle-cry.

As they ran, Gandalf cried again, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" and he struck the bridge with his staff.

The bridge cracked right at the Balrog's feet and fell, along with the Balrog, down into the dark chasm.

"NOOOO!" came a deep, guttural cry that echoed in Harry's ears, but for the life of her, she couldn't work out which of the Fellowship had said it. Surely they wouldn't feel pity for the terrible creature?

Harry shook her head. That didn't matter anymore. Gandalf was fine; he had survived without anyone's help. But as soon as Harry had the thought, the Balrog cracked its whip, and it lashed, curling around Gandalf's ankle. Perhaps the wizard might have been able to survive this by hanging on to the remaining bit of bridge until help came, but the Balrog had still been holding onto the whip, so that by using its weight, it rapidly dragged Gandalf out of sight, just as Harry, Aragorn, and Boromir skidded to a halt by the edge.

"Fly you fools!" The Fellowship would hear those harshly whispered parting words from Gandalf forever in their minds.

Harry tried, in one last desperate attempt to summon Gandalf to them, but it was for naught, because, she suspected, the spell was not strong enough to lift both Gandalf and the Balrog, who, Harry assumed, was still attached to the wizard via its whip. Or else the spell just didn't work on a person like Gandalf, who was full of Middle Earth magic. A magic that counteracted Harry's own.

Despair scrabbled at her chest and she moaned in anguish.

"Come, Harry! Harry! The bridge is collapsing, we must make haste!"

Harry felt someone grab hold of her arm and she didn't even try to shake them off, allowing herself to be dragged off the weakening bridge. Not five minute later she stood, blinking, in the glare of the sun. They were finally outside the Mines of Moria, and the person who led them here was not there to take the credit.

She felt like she'd been put through the vortex again. Sound did not exist to Harry, there was only the rush of wind and the throbbing of blood. There only seemed to be pain; the one long, endless constant in her life. It was always about pain, and love, she thought. Pain cannot exist without love, because you if you didn't care, it wouldn't hurt so.

And if it was hurting so badly for her, the one who had known Gandalf only for a relatively brief period of time, how much worse would the others, like the poor little hobbits, be feeling at a time like this? Harry's bearing rushed back at her, and with it the awareness of tears on her face, and Aragorn's argument with Boromir.

"Give them a moment for pity's sake!" Boromir growled, his own eyes suspiciously wet.

Harry stumbled over to the nearest hobbit, sweet little Sam, and held the sobbing dear gently to her shoulder, laying a comforting hand on his back when he clutched at her cloak and soaked it through with his tears. She gazed beseeching at their current leader as she bundled another halfling – Pippin this time – into her side, affecting the most piteous look she could, all enormous, glistening, green doe-eyes and trembling bottom lip.

But while he looked unhappy causing them such distress, Aragorn would not be dissuaded, logic conquering over compassion. "By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs! We must make for the woods of Lothlorien at once."

Harry tuned the arguing duo out as she felt a pair of familiar talons settle on her shoulder.

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**AN: **I realized I've yet to make an endnote asking for reviews. This isn't going to be one - since the encouraging amount of favs and follows speak for themselves - but thank you to those that do review, it's nice to read about what you find particularly amusing.


	6. Over the River and Through the Woods

**AN: **Shout out to murkybluematter and her kickass series, The Pureblood Pretense, where I shamelessly borrowed the 'cute face' from, though she calls it 'the look'. I had to include it since when I first read about it, I thought, "Oh, my gosh, I do that too!" If you're a fan of Harry Potter, capable Fem!Harry, and girl-pretending-to-be-a-boy stories, The Pureblood Pretense was written for you.

Hahaha, that's right, I have no original thoughts of my own.

**To those that are still wondering why I use both female and male pronouns** when referring to Harry as well as calling her both wizard and witch, the female pronoun is used when the story is in Harry's point of view and the male pronouns are used when someone else is talking or thinking; everyone still think Harry is a boy. As for me using wizard and witch interchangeably, I think of 'wizard' as the race, as in Harry is of the race of Wizards the same way _I _would be of the race of Men. The use of 'witch' is referring specifically to her gender; the same way you call a vixen a vixen instead of just calling it a woman fox, Harry calls herself a witch instead of a woman.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Over the River and Through the Woods**

Harry stood in the middle of a breezy meadow that the Fellowship had claimed for their camping ground the night before. Soft, pastel flowers littered the ground at her feet and if a butterfly were to flutter past, it wound not be out of place. The day was idyllic in it's beauty, an uncommon occurrence during these troubled times and Harry was determined to make the best of it even if she was currently about to perform like a circus monkey for the amusement of her companions.

After much prodding and nudging and grumbling from the Fellowship – Merry and Pippin decidedly of the nudging and grumbling parts – Harry bashfully and with extreme hesitance agreed to show them her method of flying. Gimli in particular was especially interested – though he tried not to show it – because, according to him, "Broomsticks were meant for sweeping the dirt on the ground, not the clouds in the air. 'Tis unnatural, this witchery!"

Now here Harry was, tightly clutching her Firebolt, which she had just plucked from out of her enlarged trunk. She was attempting to calm herself enough to climb onto her broom without feeling like a fool, but the vaguely disbelieving looks from the Fellowship made it difficult work.

She had resolved to just ignore them, and even tried to ignore Boromir and Aragorn when they started to spar, but it was extremely difficult; they were really going at it. The strange thing was, they weren't even sparing with swords, instead, they were fighting with a large cow horn and a silver crown.

How odd.

They even seemed to have made some sort of contest out of it; the theme of which appeared to be Who-so-ever Chucketh Their Opponent's Weapon the Furthest Wins. Aragorn won when he sent Boromir's horn soaring over the head of Frodo, who had been running away from the battle duo.

For some reason, Harry got the feeling that last bit was important.

Legolas, who had been observing the fight, then turned and looked extremely put out by the existence of Harry's Firebolt. He even made it a point to say that since Harry wasn't an elf, a twig like that couldn't possibly support his weight. Then he rounded up by staring very rudely at Harry's beautiful broom.

It was obvious to Harry that the elf thought he had made some sort of a point, if the gigantic swelling of his nose was any indication. Harry didn't bother asking why the elf's nose had grown to almost the size of the rest of his head in the space of a few seconds. Indeed, at the moment, it seemed rather natural. She also didn't bother explaining about magic and how a series of enchantments were the reason why she could ride on a broomstick. There was no point in arguing, they were about to get a demonstration anyway.

As she geared herself up, Harry saw a cow jump over the moon. How very strange. When had cows learned to fly? And the moon was being very rude, she thought, taking up space still, considering it was now the middle of the day.

She swung a leg over her broom, assumed a confident stance with her feet firmly on the ground – she would need a good take off in order to impress them – and –

"Just a moment Harry," said Gandalf, walking towards her. Harry noticed with a start that Gandalf looked different. His white hair and beard were now shorter and neater. The same could be said for his clothes, which now looked like they had been ironed and bleached. His staff . . . well, it no longer looked as though it might be used for firewood. Rather, it resembled a large polished baton, except it was made of wood.

"You have forgotten something I think," said the old wizard, gazing at Harry with a sly smile.

Harry could not think what she had forgotten. She told Gandalf so.

"Ah," said Gandalf, holding up a finger. "Pat yourself on the head."

Harry told him she'd rather not as her hat was in the way and she didn't care to take it off.

"But if you pat yourself on the head, you will see what you have forgotten."

Harry reluctantly obliged, patting her head. She noticed with some surprise that her hat was not on it. She had forgotten her hat. How could she have forgotten her hat? It was too important! Where was it? Where was her hat – ?

Gandalf held it up to her.

Harry snatched it, relief sweeping over her. She had her hat; she had not lost her hat. Harry sighed once more, stuffed it on her head, nodded a thank you to Gandalf, and prepared to launch off.

"Remember Harry," said Gandalf leaning over the Firebolt to whisper in Harry's ear. "Do not forget your hat. Otherwise you may end up stuck; whether here or there will be up to you. And always remember; do not give in to temptation."

Harry nodded seriously, even though she didn't exactly know what Gandalf was going on about.

She soared into the air, leaving the green landscape below her. It was a wonderful feeling; the wind in her face, whipping her robes about. She flew higher, and higher, and higher. Se glanced down. The trees looked like mere dots on the ground; she could no longer see Gandalf or the others.

With a devil-may-care grin, she ascended to an even greater height. She was higher than the clouds; higher than the earth! She was in space! Spaaaaaace!

"Spaaaaaaaace!" she yelled, only for her voice to be pulled away by the sucking vacuum of empty space.

Something was telling her, in a distant corner of her mind, that this should have been impossible, that broom were not engineered to travel this high, but Harry went along with it. After all, it wasn't everyday that one got to see space up close and personal.

The stars looked a lot closer than they did back on the ground. They were so big, as big as bludgers, and Harry found herself having to dodge them as she whizzed passed. She felt the hairs on her head singe slightly from the proximity of the burning globes.

Something began pulling her, tugging relentlessly at her. Had she entered the atmosphere of another planet and was now being pulled down by its gravity? Harry's fuzzy vision took in the sight of the wizard-eating monster grappling at her. It looked liked a swirly, dark violet, raspberry cheesecake, ice cream cone. It was a black hole!

"No!" she wailed, her hands grasping her broom in an attempt to steer it in another direction. She didn't want to be a dessert topping! "I don't want to go there. Leave me alone!"

It was like a vacuum-cleaner set on high, swallowing up any hapless, unaware dust bunny. It sucked Harry to the edge and she tried with all her might to fly away, but it seemed as though even a Firebolt would not be strong enough to fight off a modern house-wife's cleaning equipment. She desperately hung on to her broom but even as she just barely held on, the wind in the black hole ripped the hat off her head, sending it twirling away into the vast darkness.

"Noooooooooooooo!"

It had her hat! Her precious hat! She was going to be next. She was going be dragged in, lost in the abyss. She was going to remain there forever –

"Harry? Harry!"

Harry jerked awake, almost choking on the gasp of air the she sucked in. Aragorn's unshaven face was leaning over her, outlined by the morning light. "It is time to go," he said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. He then went to wake the hobbits.

Harry breathed deeply; surprised and a touch disgusted to notice she was sweating. Ew, that was not how she wanted to wake in the morning. A quick personal charm vanished the sticky moisture from her skin, while she contemplated the cause of her bodily rebellion.

It had all been a dream, just a dream. The vortex, the stars, the sparring, everything. Well of course she'd been dreaming! Gandalf was _not_ alive. He was dead. Fallen off the bridge in the Mines of Moria, and he'd certainly never looked like he had in Harry's dream. He was dead and he wasn't coming back.

Harry felt bitter. Yet another friend gone.

It didn't seem to matter that she'd only known Gandalf for less than two weeks; she distinctly felt the loss of the old wizard. His presence had been a comfort for her since she had arrived, and the loss of it made her feel off-balanced and cold. She reminded herself though, that she couldn't be feeling the grief as keenly as the rest of the Fellowship, especially Frodo. The hobbit had been looking wretchedly miserable ever since their escape from Moria.

By questioning Merry and Pippin, Harry discovered that Frodo had known Gandalf all of his life. No doubt such a loss was even worse than hers when she had lost Sirius, hesitant as she was to consider such a thing, since it felt almost like betrayel to her godfather's memory. It had to be horrible for Frodo, and with that ring around his neck adding an extra burden, well, Harry couldn't understand how he managed to appear so well-adjusted.

Later on, before the Company started off again, Harry forced herself to wonder about the meaning of her dream and why the possible loss of her hat had terrified her so much. She didn't remember reading about any specific meanings behind losing one's hat in any of her Divination books. Was it just silly, random nonsense? But why would she have Gandalf, a significant person she currently connected to feelings of sadness, be associated with silly nonsense?

Now that she was thinking about it, she had lost her hat sometime the night before. They had been trekking through the woods for a full day already. It had been dark, and they hadn't lit a fire because the orcs would have been able to see it. The only light available to them had stemmed from Legolas, and for a short time – before Aragorn told her to put it out – Harry's own wand. During their nearly blind trek from the mines to the Silverlode River, Harry had absently ran her fingers through her hair and noticed her hat was not on her head.

But somehow, she doubted losing a boring old hat would spark such a response.

Harry decided she would think on her hat later. Right now there were more important things going on. From listening to Legolas' and Gimli's conversations, Harry discerned the wood they were about to enter was called Lotho-something or other, and that it was run by elves. Wood elves, to be specific.

It turned out that in Middle Earth, there were different types of elves. Harry wondered if some might look like house-elves but was currently doubting it since Merry and Pippin wouldn't have laughed at the mention of house-elves being around hobbit size if they _did _look similar.

She did find one thing out; Legolas was apparently a wood elf, and if Gimli's grumblings gave any indication to the matter, wood elves were a highly suspicious lot, prone to jumping from behind trees and sticking their arrows into unsuspecting people's faces. But Harry already knew that, as she had been a first hand witness to Legolas' highly developed sense of distrust.

The Company were now walking precariously amongst towering trees of unusual girth. They were silvery gold in colour, and looked entirely too mystical to be real. They also seemed to let off the same otherworldly glow as Legolas did. Truthfully, it was spectacularly creepy being in that forest and Legolas certainly wasn't helping matters in the least bit, as he felt compelled to bursting into spontaneous bouts of song every now and then.

Any shiny kind of tree that made high-strung pretty-boys like Legolas get in touch with their inner Broadway divas should not be allowed in areas open to the general public.

In truth, while Harry couldn't relate to being so happy, you were performing your own Disney movie, she did understand that this _Loth- loreen_ or whatever, was Legolas' sort of home; this was where his "kin" resided, as Legolas called the elves living in this forest. Harry felt the same way about Hogwarts; her home away from home. Not that Private Drive had ever felt like home to Harry, but it was where she had lived for the first eleven years of her life.

The next leg of travelling was spent basking in the radiance of the forest. Harry found out – with some surprise because she hadn't been excepting it – that it was winter. (Were they pulling her leg? She saw chipmunks frolicking not ten paces ago.) She also found, by discreetly observing Aragorn and Boromir, that the elves here were supposed to be friendly; though, only _if_ you weren't evil and only _if_ you didn't carry evil with you.

Er, yeah, so, did that mean everyone was safe? Aragorn seemed to think so but Harry was of a like mind as Boromir and wondered what these elves considered evil. While she thought herself a good person, Harry had a shard of Dark Lord in her forehead, did that count as carrying evil? And wasn't that ring Frodo was carrying supposed to be evil beyond measure? Their chances at safe passage didn't seem to good, at least, in her opinion.

They stopped to rest by another river, this particular one named Nimrodel, where Legolas just had to sing yet another song. The song featured the word _Nimrodel_ quite often, and was supposed to rhyme, but because Legolas had had to translate it from elvish, it didn't sound as good as it was supposed to. So Legolas claimed, anyway. In either case, Harry couldn't understand it. After Legolas' enthusiastic performance, they set off once more, passing the river Nimrodel and venturing deeper into the woods.

For the first time since she'd arrived in Middle Earth, Harry found herself dearly missing Ron and Hermione. Here she was, on the adventure of all adventures, and they weren't with her to raise hell and take names. Somehow that didn't feel at all right to Harry. She felt hollow, as though the places on either side of her were just waiting to be filled with Ron's stupid jokes and Hermione's constant lecturing. Why couldn't have the vortex, or whatever it was, pick up at least one of her friends along the way? Then Harry wouldn't have to feel so alone.

She hadn't realised it until now, but she had never felt lonely since she'd arrived in Middle Earth because of Gandalf. In Harry's mind Gandalf was a wizard – no matter that he came from a different branch of magic – he was still a wizard, as was Harry. In his presence, Harry had felt . . . part of something more. Not so alone. She supposed it also helped that Gandalf had looked like Professor Dumbledore country cousin, so there was some familiarity there, too.

But now that Gandalf was gone . . . Harry sighed miserably. She really was all alone in this strange, new world. Unless, of course, she found another wizard to travel with but that was about as likely as Ron and Hermione turning up.

When he'd been alive, Gandalf had told her that there were four other wizards out there, beside himself. By name and reputation, Harry knew of only one; Saruman, The White Wizard, who, in actuality, was not so white on the inside. Gandalf – and to a much larger extent, Merry and Pippin – had been the soul suppliers of this gossip – but only if Harry bribed the hobbits with food first – and save for Harry brandishing an "I Love Sauron" sign under Saruman's nose, it really wasn't likely the wizard would go to the trouble of laying out the crumpets and tea.

If they even had crumpets and tea in Middle Earth that is.

That thought only served to depress Harry further, as she was once again reminded of her lonesomeness.

A few dragging moments passed as Harry pondered on this unpleasantly vast feeling. She would have continued to wallow in misery even further, if Hedwig hadn't landed on her shoulder. She glanced at her steadfast companion from the corner of her eye and saw a small grass-snake, already dead, thankfully, dangling from Hedwig's beak. Harry smiled fondly at her. She wasn't really all that alone after all.

Gimli chose that moment to scare the hobbits witless.

"Stay close, young hobbits," he stage whispered, and not a little nervously, holding tight to his axe. "An elf witch resides in these woods, of terrible power. All who look upon her, fall under her spell, and are never seen again."

Frodo looked particularly freaked out by this. His large blue eyes grew even larger and he began turning his head this way and that, prompting Sam to ask if he was alright.

Harry was ambiguous in her feelings. On one hand, she felt pleased she would be meeting another magic user – it got her wondering if the elf witch used a staff like Gandalf's – on the other hand, the way Gimli was describing her . . . well, it sounded like she was a Veela or a Succubus. Though, being an elf of Legolas' likeness, perhaps that wasn't far from the truth.

Gimli sniffed. "Well, here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

Perhaps Gimli shouldn't have said that last bit because he only served to embarrass himself in the long run. About twenty arrows suddenly sprang up from behind the trees, or more specifically, their owner's sprang out from behind the trees. No one it seemed, not even Legolas, had heard these elves coming.

Harry blinked. It took her all of half a second to process that every one of them looked liked Legolas. The height, the hair, the eyes, the use of arrows as their foremost weapons; it was unnatural. Were they clones? Didn't their gene pool have any variation? And why had Harry yet to see one girl elf? Maybe they were like a hive of bees, with lots of male worker drones and a queen in charge of everything; the elf witch could be the queen bee.

A stony-faced elf – the leader or maybe a diplomat apparently because he carried no visible weapons – stepped up in front of Aragorn, which alarmingly put him near Harry. Oh, no, no, no, she liked her potentially deadly strangers at least ten feet away from her at any given time. Harry had been alternating between walking next to Pippin and Aragorn the entire trek; she wished now she'd stayed near Pippin.

The elf had hardly opened his mouth and Harry knew he was going to say something derogatory; he had that snooty, Draco Malfoy feel to him. Harry knew; she had dealt with enough Malfoy's to tell. Besides, the expression on his face told buckets.

"The dwarf breaths so loud, we could have shot him in the dark."

And there it was. Complete with sneering upper crust accent, too, it seemed. Was there an instruction manual given out on how to properly sneer that she hadn't been given? Behind her, Harry heard Gimli growl.

But she wasn't exactly paying attention to that right now. Instead, Harry was really wishing that the elf beside her, not the leader but looked similar enough to be his brother, would remove the arrow he'd planted under her left nostril. She, as a general rule, preferred her pointy objects pointed away from her.

The elf's face was inscrutable, but Harry had a feeling the ponce was enjoying causing her distress. Harry clenched her jaw, before settling her expression into what she called 'the look': lips together, teeth apart, eyes at half-mast, nose lifted to exactly fifteen degrees. She had stared down Death Eaters with the exact same look had made Dolohov trip over himself after his attack on Hermione.

This look gave the elf pause, his arrow wavering slightly and air of wariness surrounding him at Harry's stony expression. Really, what sort of fellow got off on bully girls? It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the elf just where he could shove that arrow, when her undercover bodyguard took offence in a glorious vision of white fluff. It couldn't be better timed if Harry had planned it herself.

Hedwig – from either territorial indignity or on behalf of Harry's honour – lunged from Harry's shoulder and, screeching madly, scrabbled herself onto the elf's head, her talons digging, probably not so gently, into his scalp.

"Ai!" cried the elf in alarm, dropping his bow and arrow in order to grab at Hedwig. But the owl flew upwards before he could get her, scratching his forehead and dumping the dead snake on his now messy platinum head. The elf, now looking especially _un_graceful, flapped his arms comically in an attempt to get the serpent off. He finally calmed down enough to remove the thing properly, plucking it from his hair with forefinger and thumb, and – with the ugliest expression of disgust ever displayed by an elf – flinging it behind him into the bushes.

Her eyes wide, Harry had covered her mouth with both hands, trying desperately not to laugh out loud – she could only hope she looked shocked at the proceedings and not as if she was choking back hilarity. And she wasn't the only one; Boromir, the hobbits, but mainly Gimli, seemed to be holding back guffaws as well. Unfortunately, they weren't doing a very good job of it. A sudden attack of the coughs seemed to be the main cover up for the hobbits and Boromir. Gimli, however, appeared to be going for a less subtle approach in the form of outright laughing behind the blade of his axe. It obscured his face, but not the sound.

The elf in question was puce with angry embarrassment. Harry supposed having a missile of white feathers attack you would make even the most prudish elf act un-elfish. He looked to be arguing with the head elf in their own language, and every once in a while he would gesture in Harry's direction. Aragorn and Legolas got involved in the argument, but they looked, at least, like they were trying to smooth things over.

Aragorn held up both hands imploringly and all three elves stopped their squabbling to listen to him.

Finally, after a few minutes of jabbering back and forth, Harry was summoned by Aragorn to join the quartet. Well not exactly summoned, more like Aragorn waved at her and Harry walked over.

Harry positioned herself between Aragorn and Legolas, feeling awkward and self-conscious at the glares of the two other elves.

"Harry," began Aragorn. Harry noticed he looked a bit reluctant to go on.

"Hmm?" Harry replied, cocking her head and assuming a face of perfectly innocuous confusion. This was the same look that got her out of more trouble with her professors than she would admit to; maybe it would save her once again.

Aragorn opened his mouth, but at that moment Hedwig, who'd been resting on a topmost branch of one of the trees, fluttered down onto Harry's shoulder and quite regally began preening her wings. No one present could mistake the symbolism of this gesture, even though the _Lotho_-elves found it to be completely bizarre behaviour for an owl. No doubt they couldn't work out how a bird should be so intelligent as to show arrogance and territorial feelings. It could be observed in dogs certainly, but not birds, and especially not owls, who were known to be wild and un-tameable.

The elf Hedwig had attacked clenched his fists, and he eyed the owl as though he'd like to see her spitted on a metal pike and put on a fire. Harry nervously eased Hedwig down to her forearm and wrapped her other arm around the owl in case the angry elf decided to attack.

"Ara-gorn?" Harry slowly prompted, playing up her accent. If this ploy was to work, she'd need to seem as unknowing as possible.

It was Legolas who answered. "Orophin would like an apology, Harry," he said.

Harry flicked through her most recent memories, looking for any instance she might have used or heard the word 'apology' before, and came up thankfully blank. She had rarely spoken much Westron before since Gandalf was always ready to translate and as of late, she hadn't been speaking very often since the Mines of Moria, due to a combination of her natural reservedness and recently acquired un-talkative mood. Add on top of all that that even though she had little trouble understanding what anyone was saying anymore, she was still a bit nervous about talking for fear she would trip up spectacularly, and she could play this to her advantage.

No translator plus perceived lack of practice meant she could easily pretend she didn't understand what they were on about and no one could hold it against her.

"'_A-po-lo-gee_'?" Harry echoed carefully, enunciating the word exactly as Legolas had. Her eyes flickered attentively from one person to the next, as if expecting them to say something else for her to parrot. She had wore the exact same look when repeating after Merry and Pippin and she did not doubt that Aragorn and Legolas recognized it.

The Ranger sighed in exasperation and ran a callous hand over his face. There was more jabbering in what Harry assumed was Elvish, during which she was sure her lack of understanding was brought up and questioned, judging by the incredulous looks of the other elves. This went back and forth for an excessive amount of time, taking into consideration that there were far more important thing to be doing that talking about a wizard and her familiar.

Unfortunately, it looked like that Orophin douche didn't want to relent in his quest for Harry's penitence and made an obstinate face while insistently pointing his perfectly manicured finger in her direction. At this point, even the head Elf seemed to be thinking that squeezing an apology out of Harry was more trouble than it was worth but Aragorn seemed to be willing to give it another shot.

"Harry," the dark-haired man began, placing a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. "Orophin – that is, this man here – is quite unhappy that Hedwig attacked him. It, um, hurt his feelings." Here there were snorts from the recently recovered gaggle of laughers. "So he would like an apology – as in saying sorry. Can you do that?"

Harry wasn't sure if she should be amused or offended that they thought they had to talk to her like a toddler to get her to understand. All the same, she said in her practiced halting way, "Orophin . . . say sorry?"

Aragorn nodded. "Please, say sorry."

Harry looked expectantly at the irritated Elf for a few seconds before looking in confusion at Aragorn once more. "Why he not say?"

"No, no, Harry. _You _say sorry."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," Legolas agreed, impatiently. "Twas your bird that attacked Orophin. You are in charge of Hedwig, therefore, you apologize."

Orophin, who appeared to only speak elvish, was infuriated that Harry didn't seem the least bit contrite. After asking the head elf something, and getting a short reply in return, Orophin grew even redder, before pursing his lips so much that he made Aunt Petunia look like an amateur. He glared at Harry a full ten seconds before exploding with a bashing of elvish that made Legolas's eyebrows shoot up and Aragorn's mouth to drop open. He obviously hadn't said anything wholesome.

"Please, Harry, just apologize," Aragorn said, sounding tired. Harry immediately felt guilty. More important things than her pride were at stake here, and she could possibly be alienating potential Fellowship allies.

She fidgeted the grass with the toe of her boot and then blinked up at them in a way that she knew made her look like a baby owl peeking out of it's nest. "Hedwig do bad?"

Her interrogators stared stupidly down at her, even the uppity ponce.

"Erm, yes," Aragorn confirmed.

"I say sorry for Hedwig?" she continued, making her eyes go wider and tilting her head just enough for the light to catch her irises, making them glitter.

"Yes," Legolas answered this time, a curious expression on his face. Harry wasn't completely sure what to make of it but he looked vaguely contrite himself so it couldn't be all that bad.

"Hedwig _vair_ sorry," Harry said, and let a guileless smile brighten her face, making sure that her eyes crinkled, her nose scrunched up the tiniest bit, and her teeth flashed shyly. She whipped away from the dumbstruck four before they could remember their names and joined the rest of the Fellowship who were finding the proceedings as amusing as she did.

She heard Gimli stifle a snort.

As she eased Hedwig back onto her shoulder and shared a coo, she told herself that it wasn't her fault that her 'cute face' was so effective.

The 'cute face' was really a series of facial manipulations that had been developed with the help of Dennis Creevy – who could pull a 'cute face' even more effectively than Harry – that played up her delicate features and worked on friends and enemies alike. The theory that led to the development of the looks was that most people had a natural infant-instinct that caused them to subconsciously respond to anything that triggered it, like kittens and puppies, even if they weren't the type to express it openly. A subconscious instinct to perpetuate the species and protect young maybe. The look was scientifically engineered – and they had Hermione confirm that it was scientific – to activate those instincts by manipulating the facial features to portray innocence, helplessness, fragility, etc.

Harry wielded it mercilessly when it suited her.

Shaking off their daze when another elf warrior coughed to get their attention, the head elf – with a dreamy-eyed Orophin in tow – directed them towards a tree that he bade them to climb up.

A ladder appeared as if by magic alongside the trunk of the tree. It was silver in colour and looked like it couldn't support an ant let alone a full-grown person. But other than a bit of frightened grumbling from the hobbits (they were scared of heights, it seemed) the Fellowship followed the head elf up the ladder.

There was much confusion among the elves, however, about what to do with Gimli. Harry didn't understand this at all, she hadn't seen Gimli do or say anything offensive to the elves, except for laughing at them; surely that didn't warrant the outright hostile behaviour some of them were showing the dwarf. If anything, it should be Harry who should be so disliked by them what with her causing a bit of a scene and holding up the proceedings. Still, it had taken the elves a good five minutes of solid arguing with Aragorn to finally let Gimli climb their precious tree.

The dwarf, however, was not too inclined to follow their orders. It turned out that dwarves disliked trees as much as elves disliked dark, enclosed spaces. Gimli had to climb it in the end though, or risk being run over by a troupe of stampeding orcs. But he did so with a heavy dose of dwarvish grouchiness, among which, the words "dwarf-tossing" and "something . . . something – my axe!" were discernible.

It was a slightly despondent Company sleeping in the trees that night. None of them – besides Legolas, who looked to be right at home and Harry who had often had to escape into a tree to escape her Aunt Marge's dogs – had ever recalled having to spend the night in a tree before. It was, surprisingly, not so uncomfortable, only if you ignored that the ground was one hundred feet away and the only thing keeping you from splattering on it was a thin square plank supported by a couple of branches.

Legolas called it a _Telan_.

Harry was sharing one of these _Telans_ with Merry and Pippin. The other members of the Fellowship had divided themselves on a couple of other trees. Earlier on, when they had climbed the ladder, they had found that the dense foliage had obscured a network of elvish constructions near the top of the trees. The elves had placed rope bridges extending from one _Telan_ to another – that could be untied if the situation called for it – and some _Telans_ even looked like houses. In fact, the whole place had the feel of a large, Amazonion tree-house society, but distinctly more civilized and clean.

Harry also learned that this was not actually Lothlorien – that was the actual name, supplied by an indignant Legolas – but an outpost, where the guards of the city watched out for any dangers. The head of these guards was titled the March Warden. The particular March Warden, whose brother Harry had messed with, was named Haldir, who, it turned out, had another brother named Rumil.

Fortunately, Rumil, unlike his siblings, seemed easy going and quick to laugh. In fact, he had laughed as Harry walked passed him earlier to climb up the tree, but Harry didn't think it was from derision or scorn, but rather, humour at what Hedwig had done to his brother. Even though Rumil knew no Middle-Earthian, Harry still assumed he was the younger, may-care one of the three brothers. His cheery disposition certainly painted him that way.

Later on, before Merry, Pippin, and Harry were about to fall asleep, Legolas dropped by to tell them that Lothlorien City was still a day away. So that meant even more travelling, only this time with a group made up mostly of uppity elves, of which only some appeared normal and laid-back.

Harry was having another unpleasant dream. The difference between this one and the last one was that this time she actually knew she was dreaming. In the dream, she had gone through the same process as before; she about to mount her Firebolt, with Aragorn and Boromir competing with their crown and horn, respectively, and Gandalf dressed most peculiarly. This time, however, Gandalf didn't tell her to remember her hat; instead he said not to let it go. Harry replied by saying she couldn't let it go as she didn't have it to begin with. Gandalf had only smiled.

As Harry soared into space, avoiding the stars and reaching the black hole, she decided that – since she knew she was dreaming this time – there was no reason for her to fear the black hole, and she let it suck her in. The feeling of whirling incessantly was not terribly pleasant; she feared the contents of her stomach would violently expel themselves from her one way or another. Then she reminded himself that it was only a dream after all, and she couldn't, in actual truth, throw up and likely her stomach had no contents in it to begin with anyway, as it didn't really exist.

The black hole swirled her in its depths for what felt like years. Finally, she and her Firebolt were spat out of the pointy end, landing on a cushioned cloud. Well, not exactly landing, rather they both fell through it, and Harry, who had lost her wits, presently found them again, and – as she was plunging to the ground – gathered those wits and controlled her Firebolt enough that she brought herself to a halt just before she reached the earth.

She noticed with some surprise that she had landed in front of the Herbology greenhouses at Hogwarts. It was night time, and the moon shone eerily on the window-paned roof, reflecting a silver shimmer back onto itself. This eeriness was perhaps why Harry thought she must have imagined seeing the dark shape, still as silence, sitting on the roof. Presently, the dark shape moved into a stream of moonlight and Harry was now looking at Fawkes the Phoenix. He was grey and ugly, to fit in with his surroundings. In his talons, he was clutching Harry's abandoned wizard's hat.

With a mournful trill, Fawkes dropped Harry's hat onto the ground at her feet and took flight, soaring up passed the battlements and through a window in one of the towers.

Harry reached out and snatched up her hat, placing it quickly on her head. She was never losing it again if she could help –

Whispering woke her up.

Hobbit whispering.

More specifically, Merry and Pippin whispering, which meant it was noisy enough to wake even those resting ten trees away.

"What's going on Merry? What do you think they found?" Pippin said, leaning in closer to Merry's ear. They were both lying flat on their stomachs and peering over the side of the _Telan_.

"I don't know," answered Merry. "But it didn't look to be an elf."

"Where was it going?"

"Up Frodo's tree. He saw it and called out. Now the elves are trying to catch it."

"You don't think it was an orc do you?"

"Orcs can't climb trees, Pippin," said Merry sounding exasperated.

"They can climb rock, and if they can climb rock they can climb trees – and trees have plenty of sturdy branches that you can grip, let me remind you – so it'd be easier for an orc to climb a – "

"But it wasn't an orc, Pippin! They travel in groups, and this thing was all on its own. And did you not hear Frodo telling Aragorn; it was a little creature, near hobbit-size."

"Lucky Frodo was awake then."

Harry moved over to join Merry and Pippin, stretching herself to lie flat on her stomach, and gazing over the side. She saw the silvery heads of a bunch of elves scattered below her, presumably searching for footprints or the like.

"Why the elves did not see it?" she asked Merry, who almost jumped out of his skin.

"I didn't know you'd woken up!" he exclaimed, clutching a hand to his chest.

"Sorry," said Harry, meaning it. She hadn't thought to scare anyone. "Why the elves did not see it?"

"I think they might have, but they were waiting to see what it'd do first, if you follow me."

"But now they have lost it," Harry guessed, telling herself not to snicker. She found she couldn't make herself care much for elves. All three of the ones she had personally spoken to were too much like Malfoy for her to attempt getting chummy with.

"Seems a bit foolish of them, doesn't it?" said Pippin, who felt no reserve to hide his tittering.

The three continued watching the elves scrounge about and converse with each other for another half hour or so, whispering to each other all the while, ("Oh, now all of a sudden, you can talk?" Merry smirked. "It's amazing how quickly you learned when earlier you didn't know the meaning of 'apologize'.") until they became drowsy and agreed it wasn't very interesting watching elves talk in a language any of them could hope to understand, so they went back to sleep.

Harry had lay down with Merry and Pippin but she found she wasn't sleepy any more, for now she knew the meaning of her previous dream, or at least, she thought she did.

Harry held up her black wizard's hat.

She had accidentally sat on it as she was lying down. Either she was going crazy and the hat had been with her the entire time, or, Fawkes really had given it to her in her dream. At some point in the past, Harry would have thought this occurrence, if she could call it that, would be an impossibility, but now, with everything she'd been through and all the wonders of magic she'd witnessed, she couldn't really dispute the fact that it might actually be a fact.

With this conclusion, Harry assumed Dumbledore had finally managed to contact her in some way. Perhaps he had put a spell on the hat? Made it into a portkey maybe? Harry reminded herself to examine the hat further the next day.

* * *

"It has disappeared," said Haldir, sounding exasperated. "You are sure it was this Gollum creature?"

"I saw it," explained Frodo, for the tenth time that night. "It was almost upon me when I saw its eyes lean over the top of the _Telan_, like those of a warg's glinting in the moonlight. I believe I never want to see those eyes again," he concluded with a small shudder.

"It must surely be a creature of great evil to be able to escape the piercing gaze of the elves," Haldir said, with a nod at Frodo. "What think you, Aragorn?"

Aragorn removed the pipe from his mouth. "I think this should be discussed on the morrow when we reach the city. Gollum is part of the reason we are on this quest, though only a small part, but a reason nonetheless."

"Very well, then. I cannot say I am glad you are withholding information, but Galadriel has already told me to expect that you might."

"Indeed."

"It is strange that this Gollum creature should choose to attack a hobbit, if that is what it was all about – out of all of you, they pose the least threat." Haldir said as he and Aragorn made their way over the bridge and to unoccupied _Telan_, leaving Frodo and Sam to converse amongst themselves. "I understand it is usually the way of things for bigger creatures to assault smaller ones, but I do not think that is the reason for it this time."

Aragorn only sighed.

"I understand," said Haldir, who had caught the sigh. "This is another topic you can not speak of as yet."

Aragorn nodded, puffing on his pipe.

"But perhaps you can speak of one; one that has me most curious," Haldir prodded. It was obvious to Aragorn what Haldir was implying.

"You speak of Harry," Aragorn stated.

"Yes," said Haldir shortly, sounding frustrated. "He is like no child of man that I have seen. He carries an owl on his shoulder – one who apparently obeys every one of his commands and whose colouring is not natural – his clothes are also peculiar, and his speech – you say he is from far away, and indeed his accent is peculiar, but how came he to be with you then? And where are his people? Surely a child of his age, cheeky as he is, would kept safely with his parents?

"He is exceedingly charming, I will not deny, but does not have any manner of decorum, nor does he appear to show respect to those older than him, though he is clearly the youngest in your Company. I know not how to explain it.

"And what is that jewellery he wears, perched on his nose? I've never seen the like. I might stretch and call it ugly – though in truth, it is just odd – and I always assumed such trinkets were worn to enhance not to deter.

"Does he come from beyond the sea? I hear the lands on the other side host peculiar habits there. Though I do not understand how he could be from any of the lands that send their people to trade with ours, for I have seen the like of those strange people, and his features are too dramatic and fine for it to be so. Indeed, I have never seen any man look quite like he does, not even you, and you have elvish ancestry in your blood."

Aragorn did not answer immediately; he sat there taking a last breath of pipe weed before indulging Haldir – though truth be told, he probably liked to leave the elf in suspense.

"This has you so confused because Harry is _not_ a child of man," Aragorn explained. "He may not even be a child; Mithrandir had thought Harry might be three hundred years old, or more."

Haldir flapped a graceful hand. "That is impossible," he scoffed.

"It is not," Aragorn said, taking a drag of from his pipe.

"But he is not an elf! Granted, he is fairer of face than the average man, but that is all we share in common. I do not believe it; it is impossible!" Haldir said again.

"It is very possible," Aragron maintained persistently, yet calmly. "Because Harry is not a child of man, nor is he an elf. Harry is a wizard."

"Wizard!"

"A very powerful one."

"I do not believe it!"

"I have witnessed the feats of magic he has performed myself. I tell you true. Frodo, indeed many of us, including myself, would likely be dead if it were not for Harry and his stick."

"Stick?" queried Haldir, who was still so shocked by what he'd heard that he had jumped on the first available topic that seemed safe.

"It is his staff, his magic stick. Like Mithrandir's, but smaller."

"Never have I heard of such a wizard who looks like a child and has a twig for a staff!" Haldir maintained his post stubbornly like a first-rate March Warden should.

"No doubt," said Aragorn, detaching the pipe from his lips, "because he is not of this world. He has travelled here passed the stars and the heavens. Mithrandir believed he was sent by the Valar to the Fellowship to help us, and I have come to believe it also in the days past."

"Not of this world?" Haldir echoed. "That is even more ludicrous than what you previously said! None can travel between worlds, if such things even exist."

"You shall see," was all Aragorn said, and the two moved to other topics.

* * *

Harry woke up the next morning to Merry's grinning face hovering over her.

"Wake up Harry! It's breakfast time," he said happily, and turned away to join Pippin for an apple.

Harry sat up and yawned, her arms stretching to the sky. It was chilly, she thought. Perhaps she should get over the last of her bashfulness and just introduce the Fellowship to her wizard's tent if only so they wouldn't have to freeze their butts off any more.

Glancing around in case there were any probing elf eyes – though she doubted she'd see them even if there were – Harry discreetly slipped her wand from her pocket and enlarged her trunk. Digging through it, she bought out the food pouch and her cloak before shrinking the trunk again. She'd put the food pouch back later, maybe after refilling it with a bit of elvish food.

"Merry! Harry has the food out!" said Pippin, after noticing Harry pulling incongruously large packages from her small pouch.

Merry and Pippin, with Harry dutifully joining them, spent the next half hour discovering the delights of toast, kippers, and cornflakes, the last of which were new to the hobbits but were enthusiastically consumed once it was confirmed that they were delicious. They ate – delighting in the fact that the pouch seemed to go on forever – until they were fit to bursting at the seams.

Later, they – as in Merry and Pippin, known and celebrated gluttons – confused the elves and the most of the Fellowship by declining the food that was offered, which were the usual sausages Sam favoured, as well as a biscuity looking substance the elves complimented. It appeared only Aragorn, and possibly Gimli, had guessed as to why the hobbits had suddenly decided to go on a diet.

They finally set off for the City with the morning still young, turning west with Haldir and his brother Rumil. Orophin and the rest of the elves were left to guard the outskirts, and Harry could not say she was sorry to leave them behind. She wasn't going to miss sleeping in a tree either, no matter how comfortable it seemed.

Legolas was inclined to say goodbye to the Nimrodel River, and looked, to Harry, rather airy as he did so. Like Professor Trelawney almost, when she gazed into a crystal ball and foretold plague. Harry had silently snickered at the thought of her professor and Legolas coming face to face.

After a lot of walking through nothing but more forest for several hours – at this point in time, tempting Harry to toss the finger at whoever might protest and climb on her broom when the blisters that had been a long time coming finally made their appearance – they finally reached the upper part of the Silverlode River. Here, Haldir brought them to a halt.

"There is one of my people yonder across the stream," he said, pointing.

Harry could not see anything but then Haldir whistled like a bird and from the trees an elf stepped out, clad in greys and browns – a perfect camouflage. He, too, carried a bow and a quiver of arrows.

The Fellowship watched as Haldir untied a lengthy rope from his belt – as flimsy looking as the ladder – and toss it expertly over the stream, with no apparent forethought behind the act. The rope was caught just as expertly by the elf across the stream, and then tied off around the trunk of a tree. Haldir did the same with his end of the rope.

"We do not set foot in this river so far in the north, unless we must," he said, after securing the knot. "We do not build bridges either because it would be less easy for enemies to enter Lorien, if they should pass the Wardens. This is how we cross. Follow me!"

Haldir jumped onto the thin rope – that was wobbling alarmingly with the breeze from the rushing river – and with no fear whatsoever lightly jogged across the rope to the other side and back again, as though he was doing nothing more than walking along a footpath.

Harry could only think that Haldir was a bit of a show off, especially as there was only a thin _string_ separating him from the cold, energetic, nasty river below him. And he had positively no idea how Haldir expected them to cross that _string_. Legolas was having similar thoughts apparently.

"I can walk this path," he told them modestly, and stepped up to the rope. "But the others have not that skill. Must they swim?"

Not likely, mate, thought Harry snidely.

"No," said Haldir. "We have two more ropes. One shoulder high and one half-high. With care, the rest of you can cross the river."

Harry eyed the high rapids and the fast swooshing water that had enough strength to drag a person down to the bottom. She gulped. The hobbits were of a similar mind. They did not fancy crossing a river on what seemed like a less than sturdy rope – even if it was of elven make. They protested though it didn't get them very far.

Harry wished she could fly across but though she might not exactly like elves as a whole, she didn't want to scare them, which she undoubtedly would if they witnessed her skills on a Firebolt. She didn't fancy having to deal with the inevitable fling of arrows that would come her way if she did.

If only wizards could fly here, Harry lamented. Then she wouldn't have to go through so much trouble.

Presently, Legolas, then Rumil, jumped on the line of rope and with as much grace as that of Haldir before them, casually ran across it. This agility, this flexibility of the limbs, this fearlessness, Harry assumed, was a trait available only to the elven race.

And so, after Haldir secured two more ropes, they crossed the stream. Everyone but Merry – whom seemed to be part elvish and fairly flew across the rope – shifted painstakingly along. By the time they reached the other side, their fingers were rubbed raw from holding tight to the cord for so long, and their legs felt as wobbly as the rope they'd just left.

It had been hardest on Gimli, however, because he was already so weighted down with heavy weapons and chain mail that it had been doubly difficult for him to cross. And if he should have happened to fall, well, he'd have sunk straight to the bottom. When Boromir – the last person in line – had finally crossed, everyone silently agreed on one thing; they were never crossing another rope above a dangerous stream ever again. Harry was ready to kiss the ground in relief.

"Now, friends," said Haldir as they forced their tired legs to step towards him. "You have entered the Naith of Lorien. We allow no strangers to spy out the secrets of the Naith. Few indeed are permitted even to set foot there. As we agreed, I shall here blind the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf, the others may walk free for a while until we come nearer to our dwellings."

There was instant uproar from Gimli. Harry would have voiced the unfairness of it all if the dwarf hadn't beaten him to it.

"The agreement was made without my consent!" he growled. "I will not walk blindfolded like a beggar or a prisoner. I am no more likely to betray you than Legolas or any other of my companions. I am no spy!" he declared, and Harry was reminded of the situation when he first met the Fellowship, and how he'd defended himself of the same accusation; an accusation made by Gimli himself.

Harry was, by nature, not a vindictive person. She could have sat back and laughed at Gimli's predicament, claiming it was all _tit for tat_ or _what goes around comes around._ But, she realised with a sudden shock, she was friends with Gimli now, and she didn't even know how it'd happened. It was as if Gandalf's death had bought the entire company closer together, especially closer to Harry. Gandalf had trusted Harry, so maybe, on some subconscious level, the Fellowship wanted to honour his memory by grasping Harry into their folds. Now, at this moment, Harry felt like she was truly one of the Fellowship. Because of this, she couldn't let the Lothlorien elves blindfold Gimli, it just wouldn't be right.

But before he could speak up Haldir opened his mouth. "I do not doubt you," he told Gimli. "Yet this is our law, and cannot set it aside. I have done much in even letting you cross the river."

Gimli maintained his stance. "I will go forward. Or I will go back and seek my own land, where I am known to be true of word, though I will perish alone in the wilderness."

Haldir sneered nastily, "You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood," he said, lifting an arrogant brow. "You cannot go back. You will be slain if you so much as attempt to cross the river again."

At this biting speech, Gimli drew his axe from his belt. Quick as lightening Haldir and his companions loaded their bows with a few very nasty looking arrows. Seeing this, Harry produced her wand; the _Protego_ spell on the tip of her tongue should Gimli need protection.

Aragorn, seeing Harry remove her wand from her buttoned sleeves, thought things had finally gone too far. "No Harry," he said forcefully, clasping a hand over Harry's wrist; the one that held her wand. "No magic will be used today. I am still in lead here," he continued, turning to address the Fellowship. "And I say we will all be blindfolded, even Legolas. That would be best, though it will make the journey slow and dull."

Gimli approved of that. "I agree to this, only if Legolas abides by your words and is also blinded."

"A plague on dwarves and their stiff necks!" spat Legolas, going red. "I am an Elf, and kinsmen here!"

But it did Legolas no good to protest, and in time Gimli, Harry, the rest of the Company, and lastly a begrudging Legolas, were all blindfolded. It did not skip Harry's notice the specific order in which this process was done. The people the elves trusted the least had their eyes hampered first, and Legolas, who was an elf, was blindfolded last.

At length they set off again, first fearing that a trip over a tree root would be inevitable, but then becoming more relaxed as the hours passed. The elves steered them over any potential ankle-breaking dangers, and they were free to let their other senses wander, now that their foremost sense – sight – was no longer available to them.

With a jolt Harry was once again reminded of Hogwarts.

Now that she couldn't see, she could smell, and taste and _feel_ – for lack of a better word – the nature, the fresh dew still lingering from the morning mist, the squish, – and on some occasion – the crackle of the leaves below her shoes, somehow feel the glow of the sun – not the warmth, but the actual glow – caress her face, and be able to smell the slight tingle of magic that seemed to encompass this forest. It was a scent, a sensation, she had always experienced at Hogwarts; only at Hogwarts.

What it was seemed like an embrace, a buzz of the senses she had always felt when she'd come too close to a magical structure or object. She felt it again now, in Lothlorien. Though somehow, the feeling was slightly different, tinged with an impassably older scent: timeless, almost. Less obscure than Hogwarts. Ageless, yet fresh.

It was wonderful. Harry loved it.

She was glad, suddenly, that she couldn't see. She never would have experienced this awareness if she could. She never would have been reminded of home. Strangely, that thought did not make her sad anymore.

After a few more hours of trundling slowly along, the company of elves, men, hobbits and not to forget a dwarf and a wizard, began to hear voices. They were quite obviously elven voices because there was a slight musical lilt in the tone. Plus the fact they were speaking elvish could have had something to do with it.

Harry heard Haldir start up a conversation with them.

"You are now to walk free," he told the Fellowship after a couple of minutes of chatter. "Even Gimli the Dwarf." Haldir sounded despondent as he said that last bit. Harry wondered why Lothlorien elves persisted on adding Gimli's race in conjunction with his name. It wasn't like everyone didn't know what he was.

"New messages from Rivendell have come, and it seems the Lady knows who and what is each member of your Company," Haldir continued, then added, to Harry's shock, "Except the wizard, if he can be called that. The Lady made no mention of him. He shall continue to be blinded until we reach the interior of the city and the Lord and Lady have passed judgment."

_Passed judgment?_ That didn't sound good. But what could she do? Based on how thoroughly they shut down Gimli, any argument she might put up would be useless since they care nothing for the opinions of those among them that were not elves and Aragorn would go along with them for the sake of keeping the peace.

If she had been some brainless boy with more testosterone-fueled recklessness than the conditioning from childhood to avoid conflict if she couldn't win, she might have called Haldir out on the unfairness of it all – especially considering they weren't going to blindfold her originally the first time – and sic Hedwig on them.

As it was, Harry was already too tired to waste her breath so she held her peace while her friends protested her situation for her.

After it was once more determined that the elves would be getting their way, an hour or more passed, this time Aragorn was the one leading Harry over any stumble-worthy forest nuisances since Gimli had snapped and snarled at any elf that had tried to help her. In Gimli's way of thinking, since they were the ones that forced Harry to remained blind-folded, they would not be allowed to try to lessen their guilt by helping Harry walk.

It was getting on to midday, Harry thought, and the sun was at its most powerful. No more was it shining pleasantly on Harry's face; rather, it was now starting to burn uncomfortably. She needed her hat.

She had stuffed the tip of it in her belt that morning, so that it hung like a pouch at her waist. She untucked it now, and placed it on her head. She didn't have time to feel relief from the absence of the sun, however, because something strange happened.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Potter. I'd wondered when you'd finally put me on your head. It's been terribly uncomfortable swinging from your hip like that.'

Her hat was talking.

* * *

P.S. A cameo appearance to anyone that can tell me where I based 'the look' from. The first person that guesses correctly wins.


	7. Galadriel versus the Sorting Hat

**AN: **Hello all! Thanks for the reviews, though I'm a little disappointed no one has yet to guess correctly where 'the look' came from. Here's a hint: It's a book series that's of the historical fiction genre. It has fanfictions but a depressingly small amount here on FF.

Keep guessing; the cameo appearance is still up for grabs. I'll even let you decide what role you want, along with name, and appearance.

To make perfectly clear to the person that I think I confused, I asked for the origins of 'the look,' but you guessed where the 'cute face' came from, which was from The Pureblood Pretense series by murkybluematter. I'd have counted that a correct guess even though it was about the wrong look, but I had already credited murkybluemater for it in the AN of the previous chapter. Sorry.

**Chapter Seven: Galadriel versus the Sorting Hat**

Her hat was talking.

"Actually, I'm _not _talking at the moment, I'm thinking. There is a difference."

"What – ?" Harry began.

"Hush, girl!" the voice in her ear hissed. "Do you want everyone to hear you? If you want to talk to me, start thinking; that's the only way we can communicate without being heard. On second thought, don't think anymore than you have to. Your mind is about as chaotic as Albus' and I never thought that would happen. You're bound to give me a migraine."

'_You're the Sorting Hat!'_ Harry thought disbelievingly. She couldn't imagine why it was suddenly impersonating her own hat. And how did it get here? Could it travel from hat to hat?

"All in good time, Ms. Potter. Now, what have we here? My, my, what an interesting place you've landed in. Middle Earth, is it? You've met a wizard I see. Goodness me, those elves are quite a sight, aren't they? Hobbits? Orcs? I wonder why we don't have those as well.

"Oh, another troll as well! You seem to have excellent luck with those; you know, back when I was first made, you'd have been declared a Monster Slayer by now. That was a very good use of the sun spell, I must say. And what's this? There's a Dark Lord here as well! I dare say you certainly do know how to pick them, don't you, dear girl?"

'_I didn't pick –!'_

"Yes, yes, we all know _that_! Oh, you're rather angry right now. I see the elves you're with have blindfolded you. Very distrusting, these elves."

Harry wondered if it would be terribly rude of her to tell the hat to shove off.

"You can't shove me off!" snapped the Hat. "And yes it would be very rude. And start walking would you? If you haven't noticed, you've slowed down and the elves have ceased to ignore you."

Harry hadn't even realized she'd stopped. She quickly picked up the pace.

"Exactly," said the Hat. "That's the trouble with you, you hardly realize those little but important details. You'd think you'd know haw to take a hint by now but clearly not. My magic's almost run out, you know. I hadn't anticipated this. No, no, not at all."

'_What hadn't you anticipated?'_ asked Harry, almost stumbling over a stray rock on the path. If it weren't for Aragorn's hand on her arm, she would have went flying.

"Your negligence!" the Hat spat, causing Harry to jump. She could feel curious eyes on her and pretended nothing was out of the ordinary even while her hat berated her. "What do you mean by not putting me on? Didn't the dreams tell you anything? I'm important!" said the Hat pompously, and added, "Not to mention I nearly fell in that blasted river as you were crossing the rope. What would you have done if I went frolicking down stream, eh? Or drowned? I tell you what you would have done; you would have been stuck here forever! Unlike myself."

'_What do you mean?'_ Harry asked in shock.

"My magic's almost run out, that's what I mean. I can't last here forever you know. You might say that I only exist in your head. _Your _hat is sort of an anchor for _me_. My essence will soon disappear. Of course, we could have had a much longer chat if you'd have thought to – !"

'_Yeah, I know!'_ Harry interjected, annoyed. _'Now how can I get home?'_

Harry didn't hear the Hat say anything for a good two minutes. She could tell it was considering just leaving her here since it really was rather petty for all its other good qualities. "It's been my experience," it said finally, "that the only people who are chosen by the phenomenon –"

'_What?'_

"I'm talking about the vortex! But I can see now I'll have to amend myself to lightening bolt seeing as that is what you associate with coming here. The only people who are chosen by the 'lightening bolt' are chosen because they are needed. You are needed here, Ms. Potter."

"So, what does that mean?" Harry asked apprehensively. She really didn't want to know what kind of trouble was happening that was so hopeless, the Powers that Be had to bring in outside reinforcements to quell the tides.

"What was that, Harry?" Aragorn's voice boomed into Harry's left ear. She jumped; she had forgotten that she wasn't supposed to talk out loud.

"What?" Harry asked, replying in Westron. "Er, no. Talking to myself."

"Alright then," Harry heard Aragorn say. He sounded bewildered and confused. Now that she thought about it, he often took that tone when talking to her.

"I see the fact that women are utterly incomprehensible to men is truth even here," quipped the Sorting Hat.

'_Oh, shut up.'_

The Hat tutted irritably. "Pay more attention," it said before returning to it's previous subject. "Now, you have to discover the reason you are needed here, Ms. Potter. You cannot go back to our world until you have completed whatever it was you were chosen to complete. Though with the way you were practically thrown at this Fellowship, I have a feeling it's this business with the Ring."

' –_? – ' _

"That's most impressive! You not thinking anything at all," said the Hat in a complimentary tone. "Have you been practicing your Occlumency? No, I see that you haven't. Must have shocked you into Silence of the Mind, then. It happens to the best of us, not to worry. Although I should mention it only happens when the person experiencing it is about to go into a nervous collapse."

'_B-but, how am I to know what I'm supposed to do? You say that it's most likely something to do with the Ring but exactly what about it am I supposed to do? And what if it really has nothing to do with the Ring and I end up missing the chance to do what I'm supposed to because I was distracted by the big things? How can I get back then?'_

"I'm told dreams are very wondrous, complex things," the Hat responded, sounding, for a second, a lot like Professor Dumbledore. And just like Dumbledore, it gave her a riddle with nothing to go on.

Harry wanted to rip the thing from her head and curb-stomp it into the grass. Instead, she took a deep breath and distracted herself with another pressing question: '_How long can you stay?'_

The Hat seemed to have picked up on her murderous intent for it readily answered her. "A couple more hours, maybe. But not to worry, I'm leaving you with a gift. Make sure you don't take me off your head until then!"

'_What sort of gift? And you still haven't really told me how I can get back, unless you mean to tell me that all I have to do to go home is to click my heels three times like Dorothy and dream of home.'_

"Excluding any heel clicking, that's exactly what I mean! You, of all people, should know that dreams can be very real; your experience last year should have told you that! Albus has worked out all the theory and mechanics behind it and I'm sure he'd be happy to explain it to you when you get back.

"But remember, no matter how hard Albus tries to remove you from here, the phenomenon will still not allow you to leave this world until you have completed your task, whatever it is, so you better get cracking!"

Harry wondered how she could get cracking on anything when she didn't even know what her mission was.

"All in good time," said the Hat again. That really was turning out to be her least favourite phrase.

"We are nearing the gates of the city, Harry."

Harry started; Aragorn's voice had startled her from her internal conversation again. She hadn't been expecting it, and it had sounded extra loud.

"Blindfold come off now?" she asked, turning her face in the direction of the man's voice.

"Not until you have council with the Lord and Lady," Aragorn told her, sounding reluctant and sympathetic at the same time. "I am sorry."

Harry only nodded. She was put out but she didn't blame Aragorn.

"He seems to be a good man, from what I can discern," the Hat stated suddenly. Harry forced herself not to jump this time.

'_He is,'_ Harry agreed.

"Listen to him," the Hat suggested. "He seems wise. I'd like to have a poke through his head, see what I can find out. The quiet ones are usually the ones with a lot of interesting tidbits floating around in all the impenetrable corners of their minds. Well, impenetrable only to those who aren't adept at Legilimency."

'_Right.' _Of course the Hat would want to brag a bit.

"Speaking of Legilimency," the Hat continued snootily, no doubt picking up that Harry thought it was a braggart. "You're lucky, you know, that you put me on when you did."

The Hat paused. It seemed to be waiting for Harry's reaction. Harry supplied it with the appropriate amount of suspicion.

'_Why?'_

"Because someone is trying to poke around in here, that's why. It's that elf witch the dwarf was going on about. You're lucky she was too preoccupied with that hobbit, Frodo, to give any thought about anything else; as soon as she heard from the scouts that a stranger had joined the Fellowship, one who wasn't part of the original nine, well, you can guess what she tried to do."

Harry would have been horrified about some stranger poking around in her head, if it weren't for the Sorting Hat saying that last bit._'What do you mean, _tried_?'_

"She can't enter your head, Ms. Potter, because I'm on it. The enchantments set on me make impenetrable to those skilled in the mind arts. I'm proud to say she seems quite frustrated at discovering a barrier where your mind ought to be. No one's mind has disallowed her entry before, you see. She doesn't know what to make of you, really.

"And now I'm sorry to say that your council with the Lord and Lady will not be so welcoming. They are usually very objective to strangers, because Galadriel, the lady, can read anyone's mind to determine their intent, but now, because she can't read yours – "

_'Wait, so doesn't that mean I'll be better off without you on, then? If they're more likely to trust me if the lady can read my mind like everybody else?'_

"Humph! I suppose you _could _call it better off," The Hat snorted derisively. He likely didn't want his purpose made no longer needed. "I thought you didn't want anyone taking a peek in here? Now suddenly you're willing to welcome in every Tom, Dick, and Harry?"

_'Oh, put away that offended pride, I'm talking about what will make the situation go as smoothly as possible; let's leave our feelings out of this for a moment. I really don't have anything to hide and what's the point of knowingly thwarting the modus operandi of the people in charge of where we'll be going, if it's only going to make everything harder for me?'_

"How scaled your golden fur is becoming, brave Gryffindor!"

_'Don't make me sew flowers and ribbons onto you, you mouthy length of worn-out homespun."_

"No, need for threats, my dear. I'll agree that your idea had merit but surely you'll not want her in your mind in any case. She's not the only thing I'm protecting you from. What of other mind-invading powers, eh? Surely you'll be better off just _talking _to that elf witch, conversation is just as good a source of information as plundered thoughts, I should think.

"Although I have to say, it's most impressive that she can extend her mind over such a great distance, and without eye contact, too. She must be a very powerful – !"

'_Can _you_ read _her_ mind?'_

"Oh my, yes. Well, only in the strictest sense. Legilimency is not without rules after all and for all my many wonders, I'm still a hat. I'm sure you know the mind is too complex a mystery to uncover all of its secrets. But technically, yes, I can 'read' her mind, but only because she was trying to enter yours. I can't now, though, since she's gone away.

"I should say she's had a very interesting life. Something about some sort of jewels in the background, there. And a war between elves? It might interest you to know that she is immortal, too. Can't die, I mean, as all elves apparently can't. I gather _she_ is more than eight thousand years old."

Harry was now forced to wonder how old Legolas and Haldir were, who looked only several years older than her and in his late twenties respectively.

"Quite old, I'm sure," said the Hat.

'_Is she – is she nice?'_ Harry asked.

"From the flashes I saw, she seems friendly," the Hat told her. "Now why don't you pay attention to your surroundings, try to glean any useful information. Ask Aragorn where you are now; I shan't bother you until you need me."

The Hat immediately went silent.

'_Hang on!'_ Harry protested, thinking of something. _'If you only have enough magic in you to stay for a couple more hours, how can I stop her from going into my mind when you leave? What was the point of this whole conversation if you're not going to be of any help only hours from now? And can't you mind-control people with Legilimency?'_

Harry had a horrid thought just then: an image of herself surrounded by sniggering elves, gazing adoringly at a Fleur Delacour look-a-like who sat on a costly throne. The vision became worse as Harry saw herself reciting improvised poetry on bended knee before offering herself up as a vassal to tend to the elf-witch's every whim.

The Hat snorted. "You have quite a vivid imagination, Ms. Potter. Did I not just say she was friendly? Your wizard friend would hardly direct your group to her territory if she was the type to enslave people.

"I have to say it again, you would have done well in Slytherin; they are notorious for their imaginations, after all. Ambition, that's what it's all about. You need a healthy imagination to strive for ambition!"

Before Harry could protest the back-handed compliment, the Hat pressed on, "About the gift I was telling you about: If you continue to keep me on your head – that is to say, continue to keep your hat on your head, because, after all, I won't be here and your hat will be just that, an ordinary, or almost ordinary, hat – " Harry wished it would get to the point. "In a moment, Ms. Potter, in moment. Now that we have ascertained that you will keep your hat on your head at all times – and by that I mean don't take it off even when you go to sleep – your mind will be protected from any external onslaughts. Even that ring!"

Harry wasn't sure what to think about that last part. She had not felt anything in particular about the ring, besides that ugly feeling she'd gotten from Frodo, before the Company had entered the Mines of Moria. Was it just something about her? Perhaps it was because she was an outside force and not anything the Ring was used to ensnaring?

"That could very well be true, but we can't hold to that! What if, down the track, you do get attracted to the ring? No, it's best to keep the hat on, you understand, Ms. Potter, on!"

'_Alright!' _Harry snapped at the fussy thing. She was amazed that just one day ago she had been wishing for some familiar company from earth, and now that she had it, she wished it would shut up already.

"Tut tut, Ms. Potter. Most ungrateful of you," the Hat said. Harry imagined it would have been pursing its lips in annoyance if it had lips to purse. "Now ask the man walking beside you where you are." It became silent once again.

Harry cleared her throat, but before she could speak, Aragorn told her, "We have reached the interior of the city now, Harry. We are at the foot of the Lord and Lady's quarters. It is a long way to the top and with many a stair to pass over. We now have the Lady's permission to remove the cloth from your eyes, so that you may ascend them."

Harry would have beamed joyously if she knew it wouldn't make her look like an idiot. Instead, all she said was, "Okay," and allowed Aragorn to take off the blindfold, all the while making sure to keep a tight hold on her hat. A sticking charm would not doubt be helpful.

Harry pulled her wand out faster that the others had time to realize or protest and dragged the tip across her forehead while mumbling, "_Posita Maneat_." She then re-pocketed her wand before any fuss could be kicked up.

She blinked away the spots from her eyes, removing her glasses from her robe pocket – she'd had to take them off when the elves tied the cloth around her eyes– and putting them on. She was now facing what looked like a staircase made of glass or maybe crystal. It was glowing, like the elves. In fact, Harry noticed as she looked around in awe, everything to do with elves seemed to glow. The trees – which were humongous – the staircase – which wound in a spiral up an exceedingly tall tree – the clothes of the elves – which all seemed to be either green, grey, brown, or silver – and the elves themselves – who were entirely too pretty.

And they _were_ entirely too pretty, Harry realised as she and the rest of the Company followed Haldir and a few other elves up the tree. They had just passed a female elf on the stairs, the first one Harry had ever seen. She seemed to be exceedingly pretty, but not in that bewitching, inebriating way a Veela was, but rather, making you turn your head for a second, third, and even fourth look.

If that's an ordinary girl elf, how would a queen look? Harry's inner school-girl gulped at the thought.

Finally, they reached the top of the stairs. Harry absently wondered why her legs didn't feel tired after such a climb, but then sudden realization bitch-slapped the errant thought away with the obvious answer: she didn't feel tired because in the passed week, she'd been walking everywhere, with nary a moment to stop and sit. The Mines of Moria had steps by the trunk full. Obviously, her legs wouldn't tire out on some fancy elven staircase that only took fifteen minutes to trudge up, as she'd already been though the truly heavy exercise of Moria, where it took you half a day to reach the top of a staircase, and at night you'd wake up with a chronic back pain from walking vertically for so long.

The Fellowship had arranged themselves in a sort of chorus line – or at least, that what they reminded her of – with the taller people at the rear and the shorter in the front. Haldir and his accompaniment of elves had moved off to stand at the side; their hands folded in front of them, looking for a moment, in Harry's eyes, quite serene.

This was quite a difference from their usual performance of Sneers–R–Us! They probably weren't allowed to act properly disdainful or anything in the queen's presence, wherever she was.

As soon as Harry had the thought, _they_ descended from the top of a short flight of steps. Harry had never seen anything so bright in all her life, and she had often flown straight towards the sun during Quidditch plays. She took her glasses off and polished them on the side of her robes, thinking that tit must have been a trick of the light, but when she put them back on again, the couple were just as dazzling as before. Though, Harry had to allow, that a higher percentage of brightness seemed to be radiating from the queen.

Merlin and Morgana, where was a pair of sunglasses when she needed them?

Harry noticed she wasn't the only one of the Fellowship who were in a daze of awe when the couple halted near the bottom of the stairs.

They might not have looked ancient – at least, not physically – but they certainly _felt_ ancient. Ignoring the fact that she did, in truth, know that they were _far_ into retirement their years, thanks to the Sorting Hat, there was an air about them, an aura really, that made them feel so _old._ It could have been because of the expressions on their faces: So wise, yet so _dispassionate_, as though they had lived through every situation imaginable and could not be surprised by anything anymore.

Maybe her included? Harry thought hopefully.

The king spoke; "Nine there are set out from Rivendell, and nine stand before me. Yet one is unfamiliar." He looked straight at Harry, who tried for a politely neutral expression. "Tell me, where is Gandalf? I much desire to speak with him." Harry hoped that question hadn't been addressed at her; she wasn't ready to be put on the spot again.

The queen spoke then, in a low, melancholy voice, "He has fallen into shadow." The surrounding elves cried out in shock.

Harry, however, thought she looked rather creepy with her violet-blue eyes glazed over like that, staring into nothingness. The look put Harry in the mind of what Luna might look like if she completely lost all trace of reality. Quite obviously, the queen had read somebody's mind, and Harry had a nasty feeling it was Aragorn's, because Harry had been certain she had sensed his body tense up.

Neither the king nor the queen looked particularly surprised at the information that Gandalf was dead. Perhaps the queen had known before hand from reading Frodo's mind, and all this was just a show to intimidate the Fellowship? Or perhaps they were beyond showing any sort of expression at all?

The queen continued, "Your quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all." She looked directly into Boromir's eyes as she said this. The poor man looked terrified out of his wits. Harry began to feel a prickle of anger. What right did she have in intruding in people's minds? Just because she was a queen –

She still wasn't finished. "Yet hope remains while company is true," she said, looking at Sam. Sam, unlike Boromir, seemed to smile. "Do not let your hearts be troubled." She looked up now, her eyes, once again, glazing over. "Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace."

Harry almost slumped with relief. It looked like she would be getting a reprieve, at least for that night.

"However . . ." the queen continued, and Harry froze up as those creepy eyes looked straight into her own. Oh, shit. "We have not addressed the issue of the wizard, Harry. The rest of you may go." She seemed to have wilted slightly, looking almost normal, possibly because Harry was immune to her mind's influence.

Harry then watched as Aragorn, her usual salvation, walk down the steps with the rest of the Fellowship, an encouraging sort of smile on his face. She turned back to the king and queen and gulped.

The queen walked towards her. No, more like glided. Harry forced herself not to take a step back. Now was not the time to act like the frightened child she was. If she was to be taken seriously, she couldn't act like a wimp. The queen, who was at least a head taller than Harry, touched a hand to her chin and gently lifted it up, so she was forced to look into those all-knowing eyes. Harry could only hope that her hat wouldn't be pulled off.

"A wizard, so they say, from another world, with eyes like stars plucked from the skies to outshine even Elendil. Such a beautiful shade," she muttered, her eyes bearing into Harry's. "Not quite of grass, not quite of leaf . . . emeralds. Yes, emeralds. And hair so dark, it would disappear at night."

Harry discovered, in that one little moment, that not all elves were like Draco Malfoy. If the queen had instead been a man, Harry was sure she would be swooning. As it was, she still felt flattered and flushed.

"Why can I not read you?" she asked, and Harry stiffened. "Could it be because you have mind power of your own?" Harry said nothing. "Could it be . . ." she repeated. "You have great power. Great Magic," she stated. "I have neither seen nor heard of any like you in all my years. But I sense . . . something. You are an innocent, that I do believe."

Harry would have sighed in relief, but the queen still hadn't let go of her chin. In fact the lady stroked it a bit with her thumb. Harry couldn't help herself, her cheeks filled with blood and reddened noticeably. She could only imagine what Haldir and his bratty cohorts were thinking of her right now.

She'd never had physical contact with anyone except her closest friends – and grabby boys before she opened a can of whoop-ass on them – and even then, they hadn't touched her face like Galadriel was doing now. And Lady Galadriel was a very pretty elf, way prettier than the girl elf Harry had seen on the stairs. She was certain Galadriel would inspire her to look back not only a fourth time but a seventh and an eighth as well. She wouldn't be surprised if women before her had given up on men because of the beautiful queen.

As her wandering thoughts flickered around batting for both teams, she also had a feeling that Ron would be doing something incredibly stupid right now if he were in Harry's position – like cart-wheeling across the platform and flipping off the edge. And this wasn't even anything like Veela magic at all; it was plain female magic, which Harry had barely started to learn to wield herself.

Would Galadriel be open to teaching her a few tricks? Girls need to stick together and – and while Harry violently pulled herself from the vaguely dirty turn of phrase, she desperately hoped she wasn't getting a crush on the queen. That would be just . . . horrible!

"I have discovered that you understand very little of the Common Tongue." A small smile appeared on her heavenly face and she looked at Harry as if they were sharing an inside joke. Did she know Harry only pretended misunderstanding to get out of trouble? If she peeked in on Merry and Pippin, it was very likely. "Though you do improve steadily. Mithrandir attempted to gift you with the speech but for whatever reason, it was only partially successful." She leaned closer in until her lips were only inches away. "Perhaps I can help things along."

When the Lady pressed her lips to Harry's forehead, a feeling not unlike the time Gandalf struck her with his language spell shocked her brain. The churning and throbbing of thoughts and knowledge did not startled her as much as before but Harry still suffered from what felt like a case of extreme brain-freeze.

"Haldir," said Galadriel, not taking her eyes off of Harry as the young girl screwed her eyes up in agony. Harry squinted blearily in the glittering light of the king and queen as Haldir stepped forward. "Take Harry down to where the rest of the Fellowship now rests. We have badgered an innocent child quite enough."

Harry blinked. That was it? No interrogation? And she certainly hadn't been accepting an apology of any sorts, but she was grateful nonetheless.

Really now, she scolded herself. What did she expect? One kid that doesn't know anything important – from another universe of not – wasn't going to be high on anyone's watch-list, especially not millenniums old monarchs of an apparently superior race. It was silly to think otherwise.

Haldir offered Galadriel and the King two short bows. Harry, seeing him, did the same, but she hadn't counted on how awkward a bow would feel to a person who'd never had to do one before.

Haldir was pure tranquility as he gestured for Harry to follow him down the stairs. Harry realised something then as she observed Haldir's almost magnanimous expression: Everyone was a little bit in love with Galadriel; it just couldn't be helped, rather like how Harry couldn't help being a wizard. This, Harry assumed, then led them to do things that weren't generally in their character when confronted by her presence, such as not acting prudish, and not outwardly insulting someone since she would hardly look kindly upon such things.

Harry was not pleased to discover, a couple of minutes later on the stairs, that she had been right in her assumption.

"You are fortunate," said Haldir, his sneer firmly planted back on his face. He had taken to a dislike of her when he had shaken off her 'cute face' and had immediately thought she had put them under some sort of mind control. He might have let go of the ridiculous idea if it wasn't for the fact that Orophin appeared to have a crush on her. "The Lady appears to have taken a liking to you."

Harry tactfully ignored his disdain and continued to follow the elf in silence. She was not in the mood for bickering, and with the pounding in her head, she'd undoubtedly let it escalate into outright battle. She would not dig herself further in if she could help it and she could soothe her irritation with the knowledge that people like Haldir – as she had learned from experience with the Malfoys – _hated _being ignored.

When the wizard made no sign of answering back, Haldir scowled in annoyance and continued, "Where is that bird of yours? She is not in Lorien, otherwise we would have seen her cross the gates." He glanced at Harry through the corner of his eye, as if trying to gauge Harry's expression. Harry didn't offer him one. "You will not see her for a while, I think. No animal can navigate Lorien for long, especially an animal that has no business being here. She will be lost. She will circle Lorien for days trying to find you and then she will give up."

Harry didn't bother to mention that unless Lorien had a ward around it that specifically stopped post owls from finding the place, Hedwig could come and go as she pleased. She also didn't bother to mention that Hedwig was about as stubborn as a red-wine stain and she wouldn't budge when she thought something was right, or if some barrier got in her way. She also didn't bother to mention that Hedwig was extremely loyal, and that she would never give up on Harry. Instead, all she said was, "Hedwig is a wizard's owl," and left it at that.

Before she could see Haldir's reaction, Harry's stepped off the stairs, having spotted the Fellowship walking in the distance.

Later, while passing under the trees of Lorien to a more heavily wooded area, flanked on either side by a hobbit, Harry walked to the direction Aragorn had pointed to when he mentioned a pleasant place to bathe. Harry had jumped at the excuse to get clean – before any of the Fellowship had thought to utilize the opportunity – as had Merry and Pippin. The Mines of Moria were not exactly bursting with places to take a bath.

Harry had made due with copious amounts of personal-care charms and clothes refresheners – and she smelled as clean as when she had first arrived in Middle Earth – but that was not the same as a proper wash up. She was ready to take off her skin, let it soak over-night, before drowning it with highly concentrated detergent and pounding it clean with a rock.

It wasn't a very large pond, was the first thought Harry had as she and her companions stood by its edge. It wasn't very large – about the size of the average backyard swimming pool – but it still managed to maintain a little waterfall, gushing out from the boulders surrounding it. At least it was clean; the pond didn't look as though it were filled with mildew and pond scum. In fact, it was so clear that Harry could see straight to the bottom.

The visibility posed a problem for Harry. She had thought that the pond would be wide enough and deep enough and maybe even have some convenient boulders in it that no one would be able to see her bathing. She was, by personality and female nature, quite shy after all. Now instead of just climbing into the pond, she'd have to pitch her tent for any privacy.

At least she'd finally get the last of her secrets of now past caution out in the open. She really had been meaning to show the Fellowship her tent so they could rest in more comfort while they were on the road, but there had never been what felt like the right time to do it. Now she had no reason to keep making excuses to herself.

Harry politely averted her gaze as Merry and Pippin stripped off. Really, the people of this age had no sense of body-consciousness. Not even Dudley, who had known her all their lives and barely considered her a human being, let alone a girl, would strip butt-naked in front of her.

"Sorry, Harry," said Pippin, waving an apologetic hand as they jumped in and splashed her a bit. Harry was then forgotten as the two hobbits frolicked in the water.

With extra toiletries in hand – some elves had given them soap, towels and fresh clothes earlier – Harry casually strolled the perimeter of the pond, peering about for a flat, open area that was spacious enough for her tent. Her eyes alighted on a spot just behind two of the larger boulders – about the height and width of two dwarves standing back to back – and wasted no time tossing the shrunk canvas tarp on the ground and twirling her wand in the movements she had used every time she need the loo.

She felt Merry and Pippin's curious eyes on her as she ducked through the flaps of the opening but ignored it in favor of the slice of heaven waiting for her inside. Paying no mind to the extravagance of a well-off wizard's home hidden in plain sight by an Undetectable Extension Charm, Harry made a bee-line for the bathroom. She was peeling off her clothing before the door even closed behind her.

The deep tub set into the floor and rows of taps generously filled with scented soaps put her in mind of the prefect's bathroom back at Hogwarts. Harry sunk into blissfully warm water and let the steam rising from the water sooth her aching limbs. She was about to lose herself in relaxation when something tickled the back of her neck.

A hand flew up to slap at whatever it was and she made contact with the brim of her hat. Harry almost groaned out loud. How stupid was she that she could take all her clothes of but forget to remove her hat? She was set to reach up and toss the hat aside when the memory of the last words the Hat told her before it left for Hogwarts and earth struck her:

"_Remember, Ms. Potter, do not take off your hat, under any circumstances, while you are in Lothlorien, or near that hobbit. And get cracking!" _

But surely right now would be fine? Frodo and his ring were no where near and really, Galadriel would hardly be hounding her lack of thoughts, just in case something became readable, was she? A queen had better things to do.

No, she couldn't let negligence be the undoing of her; she had promised the Sorting Hat and for all that she had essentially made a vow to headgear, she had still given her word. Besides, she could wash her hair through the hat and there was no reason to feel stupid about it because there was no one there to see her take a bath with a hat.

After scrubbing furiously at the hat and her hair, she submerged herself in the water, leaving only her face out. A flick of her wand had the magical record player she had discovered floating in from where it was kept and dropped onto the towel shelf. Relishing the luxury that had been long denied to her, she let the water and background music ease her into a light doze.

If Harry had paid more attention to Merry and Pippin before she retreated into her tent, she would have realized that they would certainly faff about in the water without a care, but ultimately would be concerned if she did not emerge as they rolled their pruned bodies from the pond and looked to return to the designated sleeping area.

"Whatever do you think he's doing in there?" Pippin asked, tugging on his new leggings.

"I don't know, Pip," Merry shrugged. "But knowing how wizards can be when they're caught up in their odd business, I think it's maybe best for us to mind our own business or tell Aragorn about it when we get back. Maybe he'll know what to do."

"It's very odd. Didn't he say he was eager for a bath? And yet he didn't set one toe in the water. But I know wizards are strange folk with their strange ways. Just look at Gandalf!" continued Pippin, then he seemed to grow sombre in remembrance of the old wizard.

"Hear, hear!" Merry agreed, though not so heartily. "I remember his fireworks."

A few minutes passed and the hobbits decided they were fully dressed. A light jog later found the two arriving at the Fellowship's designated sleeping spot – on the ground in the hollow of a great tree, much to the hobbit's satisfaction – and facing an irritated Boromir and Gimli, who'd been next in line to wash.

"Wasting time splashing about, no doubt, you rascals," Gimli grumbled, gathering up his own supplies. He paused after throwing his towel over his shoulder. "Where's the lad, then? Don't tell me he's still lazing about that pond."

"Well," Pippin began hesitantly, the uncertain tone of his voice at such an innocent question turned heads. "We're not sure what Harry's doing. Not half a minute after we got to the pond did he set up his tent and went – "

"A tent, did you say?" asked Boromir, as if unsure if his ears were hearing correctly or not.

"Yes, a tent," Merry confirmed, rocking on his heels and checking the faces of those listening for any understanding of what had happened. There was none. "I didn't even know he had a tent and quicker that wink, he had it pitched. He went inside it and hasn't come out since."

"Very odd in my opinion," Pippin continued, fluffing his wet hair. "He didn't even splash about first and he was the one that wanted a bath the most."

The Fellowship looked at each other, each wondering what to make of it. Frodo was the first to make a suggestion. "Why do we not simply go ask him? Perhaps he fell asleep."

"We could do that," Merry conceded. "Pippin and I were just concerned about disturbing him if he was in the middle of something important."

"What matters of import could be taking place inside a tent near a bathing pond?" Boromir scoffed, though he too looked wary of interrupting wizardly matters.

"That's exactly why we're wondering what Harry's doing!"

After much fussing and more discussion, it was decided that they would all go and see to Harry. Boromir and Gimli were going since it was their turn at the pond and they were going in that direction any way; Aragorn and Legolas were going since they were the most well-versed in the ways of the magical; Sam and Frodo were going because they were curious; and Merry and Pippin were going since they really should have been the ones to check in on their young wizard in the first place.

They now stood as an awkward crowd in front of where Harry had bundled himself away into and wondered why they thought they needed so many people to look at a tent. It was a mid-sized tent, really, a few inches taller than Aragorn himself and the width and length of the average tent used by knights during tournaments where they kept their weapons and sleeping roll. Besides looking newly made and clean, there was nothing out of the ordinary about it.

It was looking like they had made a mountain of a molehill when Pippin hesitantly called, "Harry? Are you awake?"

They waited but there was no answer. Further inquiry yielded them no results.

Sam scratched his head before shrugging. "Reckon one of us should go in and shake 'im awake? It's been a long day and he'll not thank us if we don't make sure he's up for supper."

Boromir, who had decided his participation was no longer needed and had began stripping off his clothes, paused after tossing off his undershirt and waved a hand at them. "Go on, then. Wizard or not, the boy is asleep. Wake him and be done with it."

Aragorn stepped forward and stepped through the flaps, calling out, "Harry – ?"

The sudden silence following the cut off word made those waiting nervous. As Legolas was about to duck under as well, Aragorn popped back out from the tent, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Aragorn, what's the matter?" they cried, fearing the worst, but the ranger paid them no mind, his eyes flickering about the profile of the tent obsessively. He reached a wary hand to the space above the tent and let a thoroughly bewildered expression cross his face as the hand passed through the space with no obstruction. He then just stared at the tent, unblinkingly, looking completely at a loss for words.

"Estel, whatever is the matter?" Legolas asked, concern colouring his tone.

A pregnant silence swept over the Fellowship. Suddenly, with barely a blink in warning, Aragorn made to duck through the opening again, saying, "Follow me."

They looked at one another, wondering if he meant all of them, and if he did, how he expected them to all fit inside the thing. It was Gimli that voiced these thoughts.

Aragorns head poked out of the tent and he tugged the nearest person – Sam in this instance – forward. "I can not explain it myself, but suffice to say, it is a lot bigger than it looks." And to prove his words, his other hand latched onto Legolas, pulling both elf and hobbit in with him. Those still remaining outside were surprised to see that the tent showed no sign of any of the extra occupants now inside.

It was Legolas this time that poked his head out with a gobsmacked look on his face. They could hear Sam breathing, "Impossible," as the elf beckoned them forward. Curiosity taking hold of them, the five still outside lined up to enter the tent, despite how impossible they thought it all was.

What greeted them was impossible indeed. Every single law of nature dictated that what their eyes were telling them to be true was beyond the realm of imagination. More than one skeptical disbeliever rubbed at their eyes, as if trying to wipe away whatever illusion they must be seeing.

They stood in a well-furnished entrance hall, well-made bookshelves and carefully framed paintings lining the walls. An earthy green rug embroidered with swirling brown leaves, laying on top of the dark wooden floor, led the way to an open area where they could see lush furniture and a cozy fire. As if in a dream, one by one, the Fellowship drifted toward the open area, expecting to pass through whatever enchantment their young wizard had thrown up to confuse intruders, even as their feet sunk into the soft carpet and the fire from the fireplace warmed their flesh.

But it was real! Frodo could not deny how real it was when he stepped forward through the entrance hall and into an airy sitting room, and the plump sofa he reached for felt as soft and cushion-y as any of Bilbo's chairs back at Bag End. He sunk down into it with awe written all over him.

The rest of the Fellowship spread out across the spacious room, childlike wonder in their every movements as they allowed themselves to explore the wonder of magic before them. Sam, Merry, and Pippin called out in delight when they noticed the kitchen; Aragorn walked the length of the floor, taking in how the walls and canopy seemed to be made out of the same tan cloth they saw on the outside; Legolas had found the utensil drawers and was testing the weight of a finely crafted, silver dinner knife; and Gimli and Boromir were entranced by the tapestry hanging from the wall where the battle scene depicted within was moving with a life of it's own.

Impossible, they were all thinking, yet there it was before them, thumbing its nose at their perception of reality.

So caught up by the magic around them, they didn't notice a slender figure dancing its way towards them through an open door, eyes closed and humming, until the person jumped and yelped, startling them all into attention.

After her hour or so of soaking in water that would never turn cold, Harry lazily finished scrubbing herself, and climbed out of the tub. She reckoned she had never felt as deliciously comfortable as she did at the moment ever before. Just for that moment, all was right in her world.

Swaying her hips to the rhythm of the third movement of Vivaldi's Summer, Harry picked up the pair of dark green elven trousers that felt like they were made of suede, and held them to her legs; they really were nothing more than tights. Harry scrunched up her face, but knew she would offend someone if she didn't wear the clothes provided.

She carefully slipped the tights – or leggings, they were a bit thick for tights – on, feeling proud that she'd worked out that the flap in the front side of the trousers was to help tie it up. They were a bit loose – nothing a resizing charm wouldn't fix – but otherwise comfortable, even if they weren't her usual style.

Next was the shirt. It was long, thin, but felt like velvet, and looked a bit like it too. She pulled it over the specialized Quidditch camisole she always wore to keep her breasts from getting in the way, tucked in Undetectable Wizard-space. The shirt was a light tan colour and Harry had trouble navigating it at first; she couldn't work out how to tie it up.

Arms through the sleeves, but after that . . . oh right, now she saw. It was a wrap-around thing, a strange tunic. The edge of the tunic flutter about her knees instead of hitting mid thigh like she had seen the elves wear it, and the sleeves fell over her hands so only the tips of her fingers were visibly. The shirt was clearly too big for her but instead of resizing it like she had with the leggings, Harry kept it as it was, the silly part of her taking the reigns for a brief moment and deciding that she looked rather cute with the tunic like that.

Next came the boots. They were the same dark green as her leggings, and rather Dumbledore-ish in design, except they weren't shiny and didn't have heels. She slipped them on and had her laces tied in a trice.

All in all, she had to admit, the clothes were alright.

She studied her image in the mirror – Ooh, she seemed to be getting a light tan, she looked kind of glowy. And her legs were looking really shapely! – before squelching her vanity with all her common sense and logic, plucking up her cloak as she went, and pointedly walking away from her frivolity. While it was fine to take time to enjoy herself, she had a task to complete and she doubted it would involve how pretty she could make herself. She was a girl at war but she would be no air-headed damsel.

Harry bounced and swayed her way back to the front of the tent, hat jiggling and rocking along with her, humming, "I can slay my own dragons . . . my knight in shining armor is me . . ." She was twirling around when a noise made her eyes flash open and a yelp of shock escaped her.

The rest of the Fellowship was in her tent!

"What are you lot doing here?" Harry blurted when she had their attention. This was not how she planned on showing them the tent.

"Harry!" Pippin cheered as he raced out from the kitchen, a small cauldron in his arms, and bounced in front of her. Same and Merry followed just as enthusiastically if at a more sedate pace. "This place is wonderful! I've never heard of such a thing. How much magic was used in making this tent? How come you never showed us before?"

"Pippin!" Sam scolded. "Harry doesn't have to share everything with us. You know very well that wizards keep their secrets close to their chest."

"No, it's nothing like that at all," Harry refuted, her dramatically improved speech garnering notice. "I had meant to tell you all after you were more comfortable with me but I could never think of a good time to bring it up. I was actually planning show you today so I suppose now is a good a time as any."

"You were nervous about showing us your tent?" Merry asked disbelievingly, having never before heard of such a silly thing. "Whatever for? It's amazing!"

"Well, yes, but at first you were all rather suspicious of me and I didn't want to make it any worse and then, after we started getting along better, I didn't want to spring it on you that I _had _kept something from you," Harry explained, rocking on her heels. She frowned at a sudden thought. "Though now that I think about it, the fact that I kept it from you in the first place is suspicious in of itself."

Gimli snorted. He marched over from where he had been tracing the edge of the moving tapestry. "You're over-thinking the matter. We're here now and the fact that you didn't tell us about your inconceivable, mystical toy is not going to set us into a furious rage." He gave the fidgeting wizard a keen knowing look. "_I _am not going to settle into a furious rage."

Harry grinned sheepishly at them before another detail drew her attention. In her most confused voice, the young wizard asked, "What have you been doing in here that Boromir's standing half-naked in my sitting room?"

At night, the singing started. Harry had never heard anything so sad and so beautiful in her entire life, except perhaps when Legolas sang. But these were clearly female voices, and much more melancholic, or so Harry thought.

Legolas appeared in front of the hollow where the hobbits and Harry were lounging, having just arrived from his jaunt around the city. According to Pippin, Legolas had gone to visit some past acquaintances. Harry had wondered how 'past' these acquaintances were. Probably longer than she'd been alive, Harry had concluded.

"A lament for Gandalf," Legolas explained the sad song, staring off into the distance. Perhaps all elves did that?

"What do they say about him?" asked Merry, leaning forward slightly.

Legolas turned to face them, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I have not the heart to tell you. For me the grief is still too near."

With that short explanation, Legolas walked off around the tree again, his expression clearly troubled. Gandalf was not mentioned again for the rest of the conversations the Fellowship had that night, instead, they talked of how they fared in the tree-tops the night before, the uncomfortableness of the blindfolds, and the Lord and Lady. Sam looked distinctly uncomfortable at that last topic.

Pippin, ever the nosy one, smelled something and questioned Sam on it immediately. "And why did you blush when she looked at you, Sam?" he said, a little cheekily. "Anyone would have thought you had a guilty conscience. I hope it was nothing worse than a wicked plot to steal one of my blankets."

"I never thought no such thing," said Sam, sounding deeply serious. "If you want to know, I felt as if I hadn't got nothing on, and I didn't like it. She seemed to be looking inside me and asking me what I would do if she gave me the chance of flying back home to the Shire to a nice little hole with – with a bit of garden of my own. It was then I thought, I didn't need her help to fly back home if'n I wanted to, fore I had Harry, if he can fly like he was saying."

Everyone looked between a blushing Harry and an equally red-faced Sam then – though they didn't know that Harry, as opposed to Sam, was not blushing in embarrassment but an almost fear/gladness that the elf witch now knew one of her rudimentary skills as a wizard. It was probably because of this that Harry's meeting with the Lord and Lady had not been as judgmental as it could have been.

"That's funny," said Pippin, getting over his shock at Sam's momentary forcefulness with someone as prestigious and powerful as Galadriel. "Almost . . . almost exactly what I felt like myself; only – only well, I don't think I'll say anymore," he ended lamely.

As Harry listened to the rest of the Fellowship's explanations on their experiences of being mind read, she noticed there seemed to be a pattern in Galadriel's questioning. Everyone had felt like they was being judged, it seemed. The elf queen would offer them two paths; the path ahead where darkness and fear lay, or the path behind, where they could go home.

Gimli, Boromir, and Frodo were the only one's out of the Fellowship that would not say the specifics of what Galadriel told them, even though Boromir kept pressing for Frodo to do so. "She held you long in her gaze, Ring-bearer," he said.

"Yes," answered Frodo, looking stubborn, "but whatever came into my mind then I will keep there."

"Well have a care!" said Boromir. "I do not feel too sure of this Elvish Lady and her purposes."

Harry was inclined to agree though she did admire Galadriel very much. Aragorn, however, was not. "Speak no evil of the Lady Galadriel," he said sternly. "You know not what you say. There is in her, and in this land, no evil, unless a man bring it hither himself."

We'll just forget about the Ring then, shall we? Harry thought.

Aragorn continued, "But tonight I shall sleep without fear for the first time since I left Rivendell. And may I sleep deeply, and forget for a while my grief! I am weary in body and heart."

Then Aragorn slumped down even further on the couch he was sprawled on, and promptly conked out.

"What about you Harry?" asked Merry curiously. "She had a council with you all by yourself. What did she say?" Everyone, including Aragorn, whom, it appeared, was not fast asleep, turned to look in Harry's corner of the tree to await his explanation.

"Er –," said Harry. She couldn't, in truth, tell them what Lady Galadriel had said in her mind because she hadn't said anything at all. "Well, it was a bit different that what she talked to you about," she finally settled on. "She said I was very odd and cast a spell on me since she knew I didn't speak Westron very well. After that, she said they wouldn't be so distrusting of me anymore since she could tell I mean no harm. She also mentioned something about my eyes being like Elendil or something."

The Fellowship, particularly Legolas and Aragorn, seemed puzzled at this. They looked as if they just didn't know what to make of this strange happening.

"Well," said Merry finally, after a minute of embarrassed, awkward silence – in which everyone looked at Harry like she'd sprouted arms out of her ears – he concluded, "I think that wizards are odd."

Harry surprised herself by laughing. "That's the most honest and truest statement I've ever heard."

Merry blushed, but looked thankful nonetheless.


	8. The Mission, Should You Choose to Accept

**AN: **Hello all! Oh, dear, I never imagined that I'd be typing up author's notes so often. But you keep asking questions that I can't help but want to answer!

**_How can they not have noticed yet?_ **So many of you seem baffled that they all still think Harry is a boy. I really don't know why this is so hard to believe. Middle Earth is living in the equivalent of the fourteenth century; they live in patriarchal societies where the men are the ones that do battle, travel away from their families, and are expected to know how to take care of themselves. Harry is as different from a Middle Earthian woman as she can be without actually being a boy. She doesn't conform to their idea of a woman. There is _no reason_ to suspect she isn't a boy.

_**How hard is it to notice curves/breasts? **_Maybe I didn't take time to properly describe her clothing, but Harry's not exactly wearing anything form-fitting. Underwear, underclothes, trousers, travelling robes, and an over-cloak; all of the visible clothing being bulky and gender neutral. _I _could wear all that and be thought a man, and I'm a c-cup and have obvious hips. And remember, they're not looking for those telling female traits.

_**What's up with the tent? **_Originally, I only made it a part of the story since I don't believe any woman would knowingly let herself be dragged off into another world without making completely sure she'd have a place to sleep and keep clean; it's one of those girl things. However, the tent _will_ have a more important use later on in the story, just like Harry's gender will be used in a sub-plot as well.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It**

Only a week had passed by since the Fellowship entered Lothlorien city and Harry was forced evaluate what she'd told Haldir earlier on the stairs. Hedwig had still _not_ shown up.

Harry had grudgingly concluded that Lothlorien must have magical warding of some sort around it, considering that Galadriel was, in fact, a witch. Harry had to have been stupid to think that mind-reading was her only magical talent. The word 'witch' implied magic user after all. But it frustrated Harry that she didn't know what magical talents the queen did have, or what sort of warding resided about the city.

She was assured on one thing, though, and that was that Hedwig would _never _leave her. She imagined the owl had just found a nice tree outside the city gates and would find her when she stepped outside of Lothlorien boundaries. In the meantime, she hoped her feathered friend was perturbing the gate wardens.

In the week that had passed, Harry had entertained the elves who had delivered their clothes with transfigurations and charms to pay for the outfit she decided she wanted to keep. She considered wearing her jumper as it was chilly, but ultimately decided against it, as muggle clothes just didn't agree with a wizard's hat. She left off the jumper and instead wrapped a thicker cloak around her shoulders.

Harry had spent the last week walking about with Merry and Pippin, sometimes passing Legolas and Gimli on the way. Occasionally, the two groups would conjoin and explore the city together. This proved to be a good idea as Legolas was an elf and was familiar with the elvish language and customs. If they should happen upon any elves who spoke only _Sindarin_ ("The primary elvish language," as Legolas had explained) he would translate any undecipherable sentences, and start up conversations where the hobbits and Harry seemed to be the focal point.

The elves in Lothlorien had never seen hobbits, it seemed, and they were equally curious of Harry, who, as the rumours went, was a wizard. Harry had wondered, cheeks red as people stared, how the entire city had come to know that about her, and only when a picture of Haldir's smirking face flashed through her mind did she give up wondering.

She was considering punching him in that pretty mouth the next time she saw him.

After breakfast that day, Merry and Pippin each grabbed a hand of Harry's and pulled her up from her regular lounging spot by the tree where she was often found reading or conjuring illusions for their entertainment. The rest of the Fellowship – besides Gimli and Legolas who'd already left on their daily outing – looked on with amusement.

Harry felt it was her right to complain. "Oh, come on! We're not going today. We agreed yesterday that we'd go next week!"

"That was before we knew Legolas was going to be there. He's one of the best archers in Middle Earth, you know!" said Pippin, fervently pulling her arm.

"No, I didn't," Harry said dully, then groaned because the two hobbits were already tugging her onwards. She appreciated sports, but archery was nothing like Quidditch. "Well, so what if he's one of the best? I can see him shoot arrows any old time, why does it have to be now?"

"We'll see him best all those other elves, that's why," answered Merry. The hobbits had gotten her five meters away from the tree now.

Harry tried the stall tactic. "Well, what if he gets beaten? You're just setting yourself up for a disappointment."

At this, Merry, Pippin, and Aragorn all snorted.

"He's not going to lose, Harry, so onwards, we'll go! Why are you so opposed to seeing the archery range?" asked Merry.

Because it was full of arrogant, stuck up elf warriors, who, in Harry's mind, were what warden's were, and Harry had never liked _them_. Instead, all she said was, "How 'bout some second breakfast?"

The entire remaining Fellowship chuckled at that.

Pippin, however, shook his head. "It's too early for second breakfast," he said, and Harry gaped in surprise.

"Er, a between meal snack?" She was grasping at straws now.

"We will all go," Aragorn suggested, after observing Pippin become interested in Harry's offer. Harry glared at him. "'Twill be refreshing to see a competition of archery again. I have not witnessed one since before I toured the lands as a Ranger."

Harry didn't bother to ask what a Ranger was, but she assumed it was someone who didn't have a lot of free time on their hands.

So Harry was forced to go to the archery range because the rest of the Company were going too. Talk about peer pressure.

It took them half an hour to find it. Amidst the gigantic trees – that all looked alike – and the passing elves – whom all looked alike – they lost their way a couple of times, until they realised that the passing elves were more than likely walking to the archery range for the competition anyway, and followed _them_. Also, having the elvish translated by Aragorn – who told them the elves were going to the archery range – helped a lot.

When they arrived at the glade, they discovered that the competition was already underway, with ten candidates admitted to the semi-finals. Legolas, predictably, was one of them.

An assortment of male and female elves were gathered behind and to the sides of the remaining archers. The Company walked to where Gimli was standing along the side. He'd placed an intimidating hand on the butt of his axe, his stance resembled that of a wasp protecting its hive. That is, if wasps wore armor, stood on their hind legs, and carried axes.

He relaxed his hand when he saw that the Fellowship had surrounded him. "You've come just in time, too," he said. "The lad is about to shoot."

The 'lad,' looking serene and not in the least perturbed at the surrounding spectators, lifted his bow, took aim, and released. This all happened in the space of a split second. Everyone in the clearing watched as the arrow sailed, and sailed, and sailed – the target really was exceptionally far away – until it hit what Harry assumed was the bull's eye, if the cheering and clapping of the elves, and Legolas' nod of acknowledgment gave any indication.

She wondered how Legolas could have seen the target from where he was standing. It was simply impossible! Unless, like walking on a tightrope without any reflection whatsoever, elves had better eyesight too? It wouldn't surprise Harry. But it did make her think on why this was so Why was there an apparently perfect race? Or, maybe she should have thought instead, why there was a race that displayed such perfect _physical_ attributes while the _metaphysical_ left much to be desired?

But that isn't fair, said a small voice that sounded a lot like Hermione. Legolas was alright and Galadriel seemed nice, if a bit intrusive. She couldn't judge an entire race based on the few she had met.

Then Hagrid's words from fourth year came to the fore front."Yer get weirdos in every bunch!"

Harry decided to agree with the voices.

"Let's move closer to the target," suggested Frodo. "I should like to see what they're actually aiming at."

Everyone agreed, and they shuffled along until they almost reached the other side of the field. The target, they found, was a bunch of compressed circles painted in a spiral on a flat board and nailed to a tree, with the largest as big as a plate and the smallest the size of a thimble. Legolas' arrow protruded directly from the thimble-sized circle.

Aragorn, noticing Harry's gaping expression, chuckled. "Tis an elvish archery contest, Harry. No man would win, should he enter."

"I can see that."

Then the rest of the elves had their go, too, only one of them just brushing the barrier of the smallest circle. After that, it was time for the finals, with only three contenders left.

An elf that was in charge of the target moved it a few meters further back. The Fellowship moved with it.

The first elf took aim and fired, his arrow landing directly in the middle of the target. There was much cheering from the surrounding elves at this. The second elf was Legolas, who didn't need nearly as much time to aim as the first elf had, and his arrow splintered the first elf's arrow as it landed. This produced even more cheering and clapping.

The last elf, however, was another story. Harry wouldn't have been interested in him at all, besides the fact that he could win the competition if he beat Legolas. Harry didn't think he was at all special, or that he would have anything to do with Harry at all, but of course, the universe, it didn't matter which, lived to contradict her.

It took a lot to make an elf drunk – half a barrel of mulled mead to be precise – and when the once-in-an-elvish-lifetime-event occurred, it was very unfortunate on the poor elf. Narien, currently being the third contender in the finals of an informal elvish archery competition, was drunk. Since early that morning in fact. The where and why was irrelevant as was how he managed to make it all the way to the finals – luck was involved, or pure coincidence – but suffice to say, that luck all but deserted him, and he wouldn't even be able to hit the side of an _Oliphant_ if it stood but three feet away.

Drunk elves and archery competitions shouldn't mix, really, as Harry found out.

Narien loaded his bow. He took extra care in doing so, though nobody in the vicinity seemed to think anything was amiss. Even if elves got drunk, they hardly looked it, after all.

Narien took aim. This, however, produced some murmurs throughout the assorted hangers-on because the elf seemed to have aimed at an angle slightly away from the target, and the audience knew, because they had that excellent sight of theirs.

The elf in question, however, seemed unconcerned, so his audience assumed he knew what he was doing. But that assumption was quickly laid to rest when Narien let loose the arrow without changing angles. This caused considerable surprise and shocked exclamations, but not nearly as much shocked and surprised as what Harry and the Fellowship would do when the arrow reached the other end.

The Company knew that the last elf had taken aim, but they hadn't seen when he'd fired the arrow, so when the missile suddenly appeared in Harry's hat, whipping it from her head and continuing to travel onwards – with the hat still dangling on the stem, and imbedding itself in a nearby tree – they were quite surprised. But none more so than Harry. She had only felt a momentary relief at not being shot, and that relief had quickly turned to terror when she realised that her hat was no longer on her head, as it was supposed to be.

"He did that on bloody purpose!" was all Harry could say, slipping into English in her outrage, before sprinting towards her pinned hat, ripping the arrow out of the tree, and stuffing the hat on her head. She could only hope that Galadriel hadn't tried to pry in those couple of minutes she'd been without her hat or she'd certainly catch it from the Sorting Hat when she got home.

On the other end of the field, Narien promptly passed out.

"A couple inches lower and you would have been – !"

"I _know,_ Pippin," said Harry, for what felt the thousandth time.

"Alright, no need to get snarly!"

"I'm not getting _snarly_, it's just, _how_ could this have happened? I thought elves were supposed to be experts at shooting arrows!"

The Fellowship, including Legolas and Gimli, had returned to their tree to discuss the morning's events – after Legolas went through all of the congratulations first, of course, and that alone took about half an hour. This was also where Harry discovered that Legolas must have been royalty by the way the elves who were offering their compliments seemed to be channeling jack-in-the-boxes', and had the tendency of saying, "Your highness," after every sentence. Or so Aragorn translated.

Harry knew she shouldn't be so grumpy, especially at Pippin, but she felt on edge from what had happened. Not the part where she'd almost been dead, but the part where Galadriel might have taken the opportunity to poke around, and now she kept expecting the Lady to pop up and invite for her a chat.

Legolas leaned forward, looking conspiratorially serious. The Fellowship leaned in closer in order to hear better. "Laer told me that Narien, the elf who shot Harry's hat, was drunk."

"What!" Harry squawked.

"Tis true," Legolas continued, seeming to enjoy the Fellowship's stunned reactions. "Last night there was merry-making in the woods, a little further away from the city, but still within its boundaries. There was much pleasure and drink to be had. It appears that Narien had too much."

"What's merry-making?" asked Harry.

Incredibly, Aragorn and Legolas both looked uncomfortable at this, exchanging glances and fidgeting slightly where they sat.

"Tis an elvish pastime," Legolas finally said, trying to avoid Harry's gaze.

Harry blinked slowly. _Merry-_making? Making happy? Surely it was just a group of idiots partying, Surely he couldn't mean . . . ? But what if he did? What if elves regularly went out and . . . She couldn't force herself to think of what Legolas could have been implying. In the woods? In a group? No, she didn't want to think about it.

"Yeah, so," Harry said, forcing her thoughts to safer subjects, "how did he make it so far into the competition if he was drunk?"

Legolas lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "I know not."

"So it's just one of those things?" Harry said.

"What things do you speak of?" Legolas looked puzzled.

"I mean, _one of those things_, you know, you can't explain it, it just sort of happens, like lightening striking in the same place twice, or something."

"Ah, I see now," said Legolas, inclining his head. "You use a very strange dialect, Harry."

Harry reddened at this, especially when she saw that everyone seemed to agree. "Everyone talks like this where I come from," she muttered in her own defence.

"It must be very interesting where you come from," said Boromir.

Harry nodded, though privately, she thought that this was Boromir's polite way of saying she was loony. "It is," Harry told them. "You won't believe some of the things – er . . ." she trailed off because suddenly everyone seemed very interested. " – well, it's just a lot different from Middle Earth."

After saying that, Harry wondered why she was so defensive at keeping everything to herself when she had told them not long ago that she didn't want to keep any secrets from them. No harm would come if she told them about muggle things, or just things in general that could be found in the wizarding world, surely? It wasn't like the Statute of Secrecy applied in an alternate reality, did it?

"How different?" asked Pippin.

"Well, let's see," said Harry, warming up to the idea, and pulling her knees up to rest her chin on them. "To begin with, you have to know that there are two main communities that exist in my world. My people call them the Wizarding World and the Muggle World. The Wizarding World is full of magic users and magical creatures, and things like that, whereas the Muggle World is full of what you call the Race of Men here. Nobody in the Muggle World knows about wizards or any magical creatures; they're kept unaware."

This caused exceptional surprise with his companions.

"Why is this so?" asked Boromir, sounding a tad defensive.

"I was told it's because they'd want a magic solution to all their problems," explained Harry, remembering what Hagrid had told her. "But I think it has more to do with the fact that what led to the separation of Muggles and Magicals was the persecution of Magicals. I don't doubt that the Muggle World and the Wizarding World co-existed thousands of years back, but just before we went into hiding, muggles burned us at the stake, calling us abominations and evil."

Boromir looked shocked and also a bit sheepish at provoking such a topic. He winced at Harry apologetically but Harry waved it off graciously. "It's fine, considering the fact that everyone more or less co-exists peacefully here, it's no wonder you would be offended hearing the race of Men in my world are kept unaware.

"In any case, I'm not sure if it would be the same now but we're really just too different. We have evolved differently. The Wizarding World uses magic for simply everything; we literally cannot exist without it. Our entire system would collapse if we were deprived of our magic. But the Muggle World has created technology to help them live their daily lives, they have no real need for magic."

At the bewildered expressions she was getting, Harry assumed they didn't know what technology was.

"An example of technology would be . . . um, computers. They look like boxes, at least some do, and you can write on them, and store libraries of books and other information, and if another person has their own computer, you can talk through them to people on the other side of the world . . ."

They weren't believing it.

"It sounds like sorcery!" said Gimli.

"I suppose you'd think it so, if you've never seen it before."

"What other things can be found in the muggle world?" asked Pippin.

"Well, there buildings, too."

"Buildings?" said the hobbits together, their tone disbelieving.

"What's so special about buildings?" asked Merry.

"Muggle buildings can be as tall as a mountain."

"As tall as mountains? I'd like to see that," said Sam. "What else is there?"

"Well, there are airplanes, which are like giant birds made of metal that travel around the world and carry hundreds of people in them – " Harry ignored the stunned expressions. "Then there are cars, a sort of horseless carriage that can travel faster than an elf can run. Um, oh, they've got these weapons that can destroy entire countries with the push of a button. They're called nuclear bombs."

There was a lot of sputtering at this. "Entire _countries_? Sauron would rejoice should he know of such a weapon!" cried Aragorn.

"Yes, well, we're lucky he doesn't."

"What about the world of Wizards? Tell us about the creatures there. We already know you don't have hobbits, but you do have elves," said Pippin.

Harry wished Pippin hadn't said anything because Legolas sat up at his words.

"There is an Elven race in your world?" he asked. "Why did you not mention this before?"

"Oh they're not like you, Legolas," said Pippin, before Harry could open his mouth. "They're like hobbits, aren't they, Harry?"

Harry was suddenly unhappy being the focus of everyone's attention. "Er, they're not _exactly_ like hobbits, though the height is similar," she said, hemming and hawing. Everyone seemed to be waiting for her to continue. "Alright then, um, they'relittlewithpointyearsandlivetoservewizards," She said. "Now, who wants to know about, er, giants?"

There was laughter. "No one heard anything, Harry," said Merry. "You ran your words together."

"Yeah, I meant to do that," Harry mumbled. Too late, she forgot Legolas could hear. Harry watched him now, frowning in puzzlement. "Fine then, but I ask that you don't become too offended when you hear what house-elves are like."

Everyone seemed even more interested at this, and they leaned in closer. Harry took a deep breath.

"The official name for elves in the Wizarding World is House-Elves, and they're called house-elves because they live in wizarding houses. I want to point out right from the start that they look and behave nothing like the elves here; they are as similar as a horse is to a horse-fly, really the only thing in common is the name, alright?" She paused to make sure everyone had nodded their heads in acknowledgment.

"House-elves are . . . " How to put this as gently as possible? "Indentured servants, only they love serving their masters. Or maybe guardians of the home is more accurate description. Their lives are tied to the family they serve. I don't know much about them beyond the fact that they love their wizards and some die of despair if they are sent away to be 'free'."

Harry cleared her throat before blithely changing the subject. "So, who wants to know about giants?"

Silence greeted her.

"Servants?" Legolas finally said.

Harry took another breath. "Look, elves in my world are _nothing _likes elves in Middle Earth. You wouldn't be able to pick them out in a crowd if I was to show you a group of assorted magical creatures because they are as like you as a cat is to a catfish. The fact that the word 'elf' is part of their name is pure coincidence."

Legoals nodded, slowly. "I see."

Harry let his eyes flit to each member of the Fellowship. Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam looked melancholy – a lot like Legolas – Boromir, Merry, and Gimli seemed contemplative, and Pippin who was munching on a piece of cheese, didn't appear to be bothered by what Harry had revealed, and surprisingly, seemed to be the only one who looked understanding of Harry's explanation.

"Look, I'm not explaining this properly. The only thing I can think of that properly explain the bond between a house-elf and the family they serve would be like if I turned Hedwig from an owl into a humanoid creature with increased intelligence.

"Hedwig follows be everywhere and happily obeys me. She is happy to obey and is very loyal because she knows I care for her and take responsibility for her, and the bond between us feeds her magic that keeps her stronger and more intelligent than a normal owl. We are both benefiting from the bond.

"That's not to say people do not abuse their animal companions or house-elves because they do – I have a friend named Dobby – he's a house-elf – that I helped escape from a horrible man and Dobby was quite happy to be free of him, but I have seen that they are at their happiest when tending to a 'master.'

"I think serving under a master is part of their nature since Dobby immediately went to look for work at the school I go to, where hundreds house-elves live, even though he said he was happy to be free. The satisfaction that work gives them is their sustenance in place of food – I've never seen a house-elf eat, that's why I think they're actually spirits taking physical form – and without it, the idleness of freedom literally kills them."

Legolas looked somewhat mollified so Harry figured a change of subject would get him into a better mood. She grinned teasingly. "Who wants to know about giants?"

Pippin took up the bait. "What are giants?"

Harry jumped straight into the description. "They're like trolls – well like the trolls back home, I'm not exactly an expert on the trolls here – except smarter – they can talk, you know – and bigger too, averaging around twenty to twenty-five feet tall, and resembles the race of Men in their looks. I'm not sure if you measure height in feet here, so think of an enormous brute of a man that's at least five times taller and wider, and you have a Giant."

Frodo shuddered. Sam looked on in horror. Pippin stopped munching as Harry enthusiastically continued.

"Groups of them have been known to fight each other to the death and they're very casual about violence. It goes without saying that their population is relatively small. They're also hard to take down since they are resistant to most magic, tough I'm not sure how they fare against non-magical weapons."

"I should not like to meet a giant, then," said Merry, taking the remaining bit of cheese out of Pippin's slack grasp and stuffing it in his mouth.

Everyone offered mumblings of agreement.

"They live in the mountains, mostly," Harry told them. "And I haven't heard much on Giant attacks unless they were being incited to war by outside forces. Of course, we're rather leery of them in general so I don't actually know much about their natural temperaments.

"I can't speak for the entire race, but my friend Hagrid is a half-giant and he's the kindest man I've ever met who has a real soft spot for animals. He works at the school I go to as well, and during my first year, he found a dragon egg that we got to watch hatch. We even took care of it for a few weeks before sending it to a better location for a growing, fire-breathing lizard. Dragons are – "

"Dragons!" everyone cried, when they finally accepted that Harry had actually said 'Dragon.'

Harry was momentarily taken aback at the passion in their voices. She had thought she would have to explain what dragons were, but evidently Middle Earth had them too.

"Yeah," Harry said. "You have them here too? We have all sorts of different breeds –"

"Harry Potter?" came a voice behind Harry's back. Harry stiffened before turning her head. Never once since arriving in Middle Earth had she told anyone her last name. An elf wearing silvery, floor length robes was standing behind her, looking down with a single raised eyebrow.

Harry scrambled to her feet, feeling more than a little defensive and wary. "Yes?"

"You are to accompany me to the Lady Galadriel. She would like a word."

Harry forced her throat not to gulp. "Now?"

The elf inclined his head, as if puzzled by Harry's query. "Yes. Now."

Harry finally forced down that gulp. It looked like Galadriel _had_ managed to see something.

Soft, dappled sunlight gleamed from the treetops a mile high, twisting, turning, and sometimes overlooking its chosen path to bounce off a stray branch or leaf, eventually finding itself on the forest floor. Sometimes a fat tree branch would catch an obscure ray, preventing it from ever reaching the ground. The aforementioned branch would then light up in filmy sliver, so that it appeared as if it were shimmering. This, then, would result in the entire tree flaring in the ethereal image, like a ghostly specter out on the moors. Every tree in Lothlorien had that effect.

Every.

Single.

Freaking.

Tree.

It was a wonder the elves had not all gone mad at such uniformed perfection all the time. Where was the spice of life that uncertainty and uniqueness could bring? It was all so _perfect, _so _completed. _There was nothing left to do with it because it was _finished. _It was amazing that boredom had not claimed more of their lives.

It all rather reminded Harry of fairy magic. It was funny what simple things people notice when they try to get their minds off unpleasant situations. At least now Harry knew how elves achieved the 'glowing' effect on almost all inanimate objects – besides themselves.

It was a pity Harry's mood didn't feel as welcoming or peaceful as her surrounding environment.

She was not stupid by any means, she liked to think that she had a good head on her shoulders, but she wasn't she as smart as someone like Hermione. Harry would be the second to admit that she could be a bit thick at times – Hermione, loveable swot she was, coming in first – but even she was surprised at how stupid she'd been this time around; and it shocked her to the bone, because when fighting for survival and acceptance, Harry usually and instinctively paid attention to the smaller matters around her. Smaller matters might soon turn into bigger matters later on, as she had found out the hard way.

She'd called herself thousands of different kinds of a brainless bitch for not remembering to replace the sticking charm on her hat.

She'd also asked herself why this had happened. Why did she kept forgetting the little things, the little spells that make a wizard's life just that much easier?

Harry thought about it, and realised she'd forgotten to use magic in other situations as well, where it could have benefited. Like her Firebolt; she could have thought to use that to fly down to Gandalf when he'd fallen into that pit, or at least to bring his body back to the Fellowship for a proper burial. She could have used the disillusionment charm or her invisibility cloak to cover herself, her broom, and Gandalf as they flew back out of the pit, so the orcs wouldn't see.

She could have used her Firebolt for a different matter entirely. She could have taken Frodo up on it and flew them away to Mount Doom where the hobbit could have chucked the ring into the lava . . . '_T__here, the danger is over and we can all go home,' _they would say. It would have only taken a couple of hours.

No, that wouldn't have worked_, _Harry told had a task and helping Frodo with it might not be it. But despite that, Harry knew there were instances that she wouldn't have even thought to use magic if it weren't for outside interference. When Aragorn and Frodo had been stuck on the other side of the crumbling road in the Mines of Moria, it had been Legolas who'd shouted for Harry to use a spell; it had been _he_ who had reminded Harry she was a wizard – a fact Harry had temporarily forgotten.

And she knew why all this occurred. Why she had simply appeared to have forgotten most fundamental spells and ideas; it was her reluctance to show magic in front of the Fellowship and the elves that had done it. Her fear of being ostracized as she had been all last year by her fellow classmates; people she had called friends. It was her fear of a new world, her fear that her new friends would hate her because she was different. All this mingled together produced a thicker Harry than the one who'd first entered this world. And she hated herself for it.

And now, because of all this, Lady Galadriel had been able to see into her mind, and would question her on it. It was the worst sort of luck.

Now, as Harry trudged up the staircase to the home of the king and queen of Loth lorien, the regal looking messenger elf gliding in front of her, she told herself to think positively. After all, what could Galadriel have seen in the minute her hat was pinned to the tree? She might not have even been scrying; her attention might have been elsewhere.

Maybe it was for another reason? Maybe it was because of the 'from another world' thing? The last time they'd spoken, Galadriel had told the king that Harry had been badgered enough. That could imply that the Lady had wanted to talk more to her, but had refrained from it because Harry was exhausted. It might mean that she wanted to speak to Harry now about whatever she couldn't before. Maybe that was it!

Harry had almost convinced herself of that theory as she reached the end of her trek up the staircase, until she spotted the heads of the rulers of Loth lorien sitting in two pearl-coloured thrones that appeared nearly as bright as they were. Their imminent presence, doubled by they vision they presented on their thrones, caused her to stumble stupidly over the last step, so that she ended up almost face-down at the feet of the messenger.

The elf in question looked down on her with eyebrows raised, before turning to the king and queen and formally introducing Harry, then walking back down the stairs.

Harry was, by now, scarlet.

Gingerly picking herself up in case she done herself actual harm, Harry walked the last few meters until she stood directly in front of the king and queen. Remembering what the messenger elf had done, she bowed and straightened, trying, without success, to avoid their weighty gazes.

"You, erm, summoned me, Your Majesties?" Harry said, not being able to take the penetrating silence anymore.

There was a long pause before the queen answered. "It does me well to see you, Harry Potter," she began, gesturing for Harry to sit on one of the many chairs on the chamber-like platform. Harry didn't know what to make of this statement, but she sat down anyway on the chair almost directly adjacent to the queen's, so that she ended up sitting sideways in the chair while looking at Lady Galadriel.

"A-and you as well." Harry tried for a polite statement. Her scar from Umbridge's detentions prickled and she couldn't help but scratch at it, though she was trying not to fidget.

Galadriel smiled slightly. Or she might not have been smiling at all; it was difficult to tell what that expressionless face might reveal. Somehow, Harry felt like the queen was was though, and this feeling calmed her down slightly, so that she stopped scratching the back of her hand nervously.

"You have any inkling as to why I have requested to see you?"

Harry wasn't sure if that was a question or not, but she answered like it was. "Possibly. That is, unless you just wanted a bit of a chat . . ."

That almost smile again.

She tried once more. "Er . . . then, you saw into my mind and discovered things . . ."

"That would be nearly correct, Harry Potter," she said, nodding elegantly. "Your hat revealed a great many things, yet concealed none. I was beginning to wonder when you would deem it wise to speak with me. Did it not occur to you that it might be my duty to inform you of the path you must walk whilst you reside in Middle Earth?"

"What?" said Harry after a pause. The implications of that had her mind in a jumble. If Galadriel had d just said what Harry thought she'd just said . . . Harry cleared her throat uncertainly. "Excuse me . . . Your Majesty . . . but – I mean, are you trying to say that, well, you actually penetrated the defensive barriers that were around my hat? But – I mean, before the Sorting Hat left, it told me that no one and nothing would be able to access my thoughts . . . and, well, you're kind of saying you _did_ . . . and that really wasn't supposed to happen," she finished lamely.

The king made a noise then. It was a sort of half snort, half cough, that barely lasted half a second. Harry marvelled that any elf could make a sound that was usually so crude seem as commonplace as breathing.

The queen said simply, "Yes."

"Right, I thought so," said Harry after a long silence, when everything she'd heard so far since arriving at the dais sank in. "Right, so that means that – that you knew all along, then? You could've gone into my mind and broken through the barrier at anytime . . ." the queen smiled fully this time, " . . . and of course you could, this is your world after all, and I'm a stupid idiot for taking the words of a hat at face value."

"I am not an intrusive elf," was all the queen said to that.

Harry felt deeply embarrassed as she really how ridiculous she had been to have put so much faith in magic, for all the she had been avoided using it, that she was willing to believe whatever a hat had said was true. What would a hat know about Middle Earth magic, after all? Sorting Hat though it was? What would Dumbledore know? He'd never been to Middle Earth. How would they know if their brand of magic was stronger than Gandalf's, or Galadriel's?

Didn't her experience with anything magical in Middle Earth – such as the holly trees and Gandalf – teach her that her magic reacted wrongly when exposed to them . . . ? No, that wasn't right – her magic hadn't worked at _all_! It had not made a dent in the enchantments she'd encounters; what had made her think it would in this instance?

The Hat had, that's what! She didn't even think to question it, and all because it was something familiar from her world that had momentarily taken away the feeling of lonesomeness in an unknown land. The Sorting Hat had only observed Gandalf's magic through Harry's own memories, it didn't have any firsthand experience. You can't base an opinion on word-of-mouth!

She was such a moron! It was only through Galadriel's grace that she hadn't read her mind, not Dumbledore's or the Hat's so called 'gift.'

Harry finally recognised that Galadriel had only waited for an opportunity when Harry would temporarily take off the hat, so the Lady could tell Harry that without forcefully plundering her head. Galadriel was only being kind; she was only respecting Harry's privacy.

She was such as idiot; as was the Sorting Hat, and yes, even Dumbledore. Of course Harry realised that Dumbledore had only wanted to help her, and that, perhaps, her hat would offer _some_ protection from the lure of the Ring, but it wouldn't completely shield her, it just wasn't strong enough. Then again, what with the way her magic responded to unfamiliar magical objects in Middle Earth, she had to re-evaluate her thoughts. Perhaps her hat wouldn't protect her from the Ring at all?

"Mayhaps," said the queen.

Harry's responding grin was chagrined and nearly a grimace. She'd just gotten her proof, hadn't she? Galadriel had managed to access her thoughts while she was still wearing the hat.

"Perhaps you should remove it?" the queen suggested, and Harry acquiesced, plucking the hat off her head and fluffing her hair. Immediately, she felt a cool breeze on her head and she nearly sighed in relief at how wonderful it felt. Without the stuffy, barrier of the hat to stop it, her head could finally breathe.

The king spoke, eyes icy blue, "What should we do with this young wizard now, Galadriel?" Harry tensed, forgetting the pleasant breeze. "Lying to the leaders of the high elves is crime worthy of the punishment of treason."

"I have not!" cried Harry, partly to explain, partly in terror, and mostly in anger at the accusation, which wasn't true. "Not once have I spoken a single false word while I've been here!"

"You do not believe withholding the truth is deception enough?"

"What business is it of yours if I wanted to keep my private thoughts exactly that: private? I didn't exactly sneak in here, did I? I would accept your accusation of withholding information if you had bothered to ask me anything to begin with, but you didn't. What's wrong with actual conversation?

"And you couldn't accuse me of withholding anything even if you did ask, since I don't know _anything! _I was tossed into this world by some higher Power without the slightest idea where I was going. I know nothing of this world beyond the scant little Gandalf as told me. "

"Indeed," the king drawled, sliding out of his chair and coming to loom over Harry, who couldn't help but lean back slightly at the elf's compelling presence. "It matters not whether you told lies outright, or concealed the truth or were simply ignorant of it all; it all unravels to the same ending: Do we trust you now? These are black times, and an unknown entity that deems fit to detain knowledge from the rulers of this land is not to be trusted."

Harry bit back the first retort that settled on her tongue, which went something along the lines of a sarcastic, "Why should I trust _you?_" Instead she settled with using logic, something Hermione would be proud of.

"You can trust me," she explained slowly, almost but not quite, speaking like she would to a child, "because the queen can see into my mind now and judge me." She looked the king straight in the eye, and while she couldn't withhold her wince, she didn't back down. "And I've no doubt she's been doing just that. If I was evil, she would have told you already, and you'd be in the middle of a merry chase to capture me as I escape."

Harry pulled a face. "As I'm still here, and we're having this conversation, and I've yet to be forced to fly away, I can only conclude that you know all of this already. You must have already known that I have a mission to complete – a mission given to me by your Valar – and she's the only one who can help me."

The elven king stared at Harry for an unsmilingly long time – during which the Wizarding World's saviour discreetly fiddled with the wand in her robe pocket – until finally he said, "Well spoken, Harry Potter!"

"W-what?" said Harry, now completely confused. She had expected . . . well, she wasn't sure what she had expected but something other than appreciation, that was certain.

The king threw her a bemused look. "So unlike any I have encountered before you," He told Harry, walking back at a leisurely place and lowering himself back on his throne. So, he _had _been trying to intimidate her into submission! How rude! "So bold. So steadfast to your convictions. You dismiss the laws of courtesy that deem that should show deference to those older than you and those with power over you, as if you were dismissing a lone ant that happened upon your path."

He waved an elegant hand at Harry. "You resemble an elf in that regard. We hold nature and the natural instincts of a person in more esteem than common rules, even if, and especially when, you might think otherwise." The king's narrowing gaze was so penetrating then, that Harry momentarily thought he was channeling Galadriel.

Realizing what the king was saying, she became uncomfortable. It was true she had previously thought most elves were snobby. But it was hardly without evidence!

"I'm sorry for withholding information," was what Harry told him, looking momentarily down at her shoes, channeling the Twins in that she wasn't at all sorry, but understood that this wasn't the time to act unrepentant.

The king inclined his head, which suggested he'd accepted Harry's apology.

"And . . . I'd be honoured if you would help me, My Lady," Harry continued, turning to address the queen. Galadriel offered Harry the same gesture the king had given a few seconds before, an amused smile playing on her lips.

Harry let out a small sigh of relief as the tenseness in her neck – the one she hadn't acknowledged until now – dispersed.

"So . . ." said Harry, drawing out the 'O'. "I . . . I have to look into a mirror?" Her tone was slightly bewildered, suggesting that she might not have bought what Galadriel was trying to sell.

"Indeed," the queen answered, gesturing once again to the large basin. "Have I not said so?" she added not unkindly, as Harry went pink. She nodded quickly to dispel her embarrassment and let her eyes rove around the clearing.

They stood, just the two of them, in the middle of a sort of large hole in the middle of a hill. The boundaries were made out of raised earth and a single wooden staircase stretched a distance from the top of the knoll to the bottom. On the other side of the place where they stood was a tiny waterfall that trickled into a small pond, encased with rock. In the middle of all this was a large basin which sat on top of a pedestal.

Harry stood in front of the basin, while Galadriel observed from behind. The queen had already poured some water from the pond into the basin, and had told Harry that she should expect to see some images from her past, present, and future. Harry didn't so much care about her past and present – she'd already experienced one and was currently living the other – it was the future she was more interested in, as that would help her discover her mission.

Or, so Galadriel believed.

Either way, Harry hoped the queen was right, as she had been getting quite irritated at not having a purpose besides being irritated all the time. She took a deep breath, glanced once up at Galadriel – she offered an encouraging nod – then leaned over the basin.

At first, there was nothing there but her own reflection staring up at her with a slight dotty look Luna often wore, which she hastily amended to resemble a more serious countenance. Absently, she noticed that her hair had gotten a bit longer and the locks that usually stood up in spikes and corkscrew curls were now less spiky and more wavy. When on earth had that happened?

She'd never had cause to cut her hair before because – well, it had never grown before! Long hair would only encourage Dudley's group of bullies to pull on it. It took Parvati complaining how she never wore her hair long for her to suspect that it was her magic that had stopped her hair from growing. She really had no patience for long hair, so her hair never grew, because she _couldn't _be bothered cutting it; she'd had no desire to. But now . . . she supposed Middle Earth was tampering with her magic again. She shouldn't have been surprised, really.

_Shimmer_.

Harry blinked. She had almost missed it. The mirror had . . . shimmered? It shimmered again, the water seeming to ripple in a tremble of silver. An image appeared. A tall, long-nosed, red-haired boy. _Ron!_ He was playing chess at the Burrow with . . . _Hermione?_

Was she looking at the present?

Another image shivered into existence. This one was of Fred and George dolling out sweets in front of a shop in Diagon Alley. Another one came rapidly, of Ginny lying on her front, in her bed, and scribbling on a piece of parchment.

More images appeared then, one after the other. Sirius falling through the Veil at the Department of Mysteries; Gandalf falling into the dark abyss of Moria; Hedwig attacking Orophin; Boromir speaking with Aragorn . . . The image focused on Boromir for a while, flashing through images she didn't recognize before –

Harry jumped back in horror, a cry of alarm on her lips, stumbling backwards over the couple of steps that led up to the basin. She dared not look into the mirror again.

Unfortunately, this action was not enough to dispel the terrible image from her thoughts. It had been Boromir. Boromir lying with mouth open, eyes closed, clutching a sword to his chest, and quite clearly _dead_! There had been blood on his clothes! And hadn't there been arrows? Considering that she had spoken to Boromir not even an hour ago, this image had obviously showed the future.

Tears prickling her eyes, Harry looked up at Galadriel. The lady was staring at her with an understanding that Harry knew, no matter how many years she might live, she would never be able to express. "W-why?" she stumbled over her wording again. "Why did the mirror show me that – those things?" She did not quite manage to keep the tremble out of her voice.

"Is it not obvious, Harry Potter?" Galadriel spoke in a low, husky tone that did not sound in the least patronizing. "The Son of the Steward of Gondor . . . he is the reason you have been brought to this world. He is your task."

"What?" That was absurd. A person couldn't be a task!

'_Why ever not?'_ Harry started as Galadriel's voice suddenly came from inside her head. "It will be your duty to protect him from now on," she continued, this time aloud. "The mirror does not lie."

"He'll hardly thank me for it! I'm sure it'll gall him something horrible to have to be watched over by me. He thinks I'm just some little kid!"

"Surely, that is not true. Who would turn up their nose at a known Istar?"

"He still treats me like I'm one of the hobbits," Harry insisted stubbornly. "And even if he didn't, I can't be with him all the time. What if we're ambushed at some point and he's killed when my back is turned?"

"Such a situation you must endeavor to avoid, then."

"So, assuming I'll be able to save him, what then?" Harry said, not sure if she was panicking or not, but determined to get all her questions out in the open while she could still of them. But surely she couldn't be responsible for someone's life like that?

Galadriel walked ever so beautifully over toward the trembling young wizard, so that they were barely a foot apart. Harry stared into those deep blue eyes, not knowing that her own conveyed the utter hopelessness she was feeling. The queen's eyes softened slightly at the look. "I believe henceforth, if you manage to save him, you will be released from your task and be free to go back to your own world."

Harry hesitated before she asked. "And if I don't save him?"

She stared a goodly length at Harry. "I think, perhaps, it would be best if I explain a few things about Boromir. Come, sit with me."

Harry trailed after her as she went to sit on a knotty, though polished looking piece of tree that resided against the wall of the clearing. It was clearly a medieval version of a park bench, but surprisingly comfortable.

Galadriel looked Harry in the eye again, and began . . .

They talked for at least half an hour. Galadriel told Harry all she could about Boromir, and his current situation. Harry learned things she hadn't bothered to pick up on before, or just didn't care to notice. Boromir, Son of Denethor, had an honourable nature and was currently the scion to the Stewardship of Gondor.(It was here Harry learned that Aragorn, shockingly, was heir to the throne of said country. She'd mentally commanded herself not to act any differently toward the Ranger, as Galadriel said he expected no special recognition.)

Boromir, therefore, had responsibilities, duties, that other men didn't have. Gondor would fall if Sauron triumphed, in fact Gondor would likely fall before that. Boromir, for that reason, shouldered a heavy burden on his shoulders. He felt responsible for his City, responsible to find all the aid that he could get for his City.

Enter the Ring.

Harry was astonished, and not a little dismayed to discover that the Ring was getting to Boromir. That it had, in fact, almost consumed him completely, and that it would not be long before he tried to steal it from Frodo. Harry must therefore always stay by Boromir's side, helping him, perhaps giving him subtle advice, and above all – making sure he didn't die!

Harry had dutifully promised all this to Galadriel, not just because it would get her home if she saved Boromir's life, but also for the simple fact that Harry knew Boromir. He was one of the Fellowship, and was a good person. Plus, the fact that Harry's Gryffindor ideals couldn't let her abandon someone to die, especially someone she had traveled in the wilderness with, fought Dark Creatures with, and, occasionally, had to bewitch so she could relieve herself. If Harry could get passed that embarrassing barrier, as she had with most of the Fellowship, then that person was worthy of saving, as far as she was concerned.

After her talk with Galadriel, Harry made her way back to the Fellowship and the hollow in their comfortable tree. She'd had to abandon them mid-speech, and was now looking forward on continuing the discussion about dragons. She had already promised herself to tell them about her experience with the Hungarian Horntail.

Harry would not hold anything back now. Not her knowledge from another world, nor her magic – she had made this promise to herself before but now, it was not only for her sake that she kept it. They had seen her use it before, she had known them for almost two months now and in that time, she had seen the kind of people they were and they had seen the kind of person she was. They shouldn't be scared of her magic. In fact, Harry was positive they weren't now, especially after her talk with Galadriel and Celeborn.

And if they showed discomfort by her everyday, seemingly never-ending supply of magic, she would continue to use it until they were comfortable. She would fling magic about even more freely than she had at the Dursley's that summer because she no longer had to be afraid.

Harry spotted the Fellowship now, lounging under their tree, having lunch. Some elves must have brought it over while she was with Galadriel.

Pippin noticed her first and waved her over. "We've saved some for you, Harry. And look, they've finally brought us wine!"

Harry grinned as she walked up the short slope that rested just before the picnic spread-out, and then plonked down next to Pippin, helping herself to some stew. "No thanks," she told the hobbit, who'd went to pour some of the alcohol into Harry's goblet. "I'm not old enough to drink yet."

Everyone seemed to think this was terribly funny. Poor Merry even choked on his own pipe smoke.

"What?" Harry asked, managing to express bafflement, amusement, and annoyance all at once. She had just gotten the feeling that she was the butt of some private joke, and the fact that she had no clue as to what it was made her a bit nervous.

"Not old enough?" said Pippin, amongst heavy chortling. He laughed so hard, some wine flew up his nose and he rubbed it a bit before continuing. "There's no need to be modest now, is there? We know the ways of wizards."

"Whuh?" was the inelegant sound that came out of Harry's mouth. Though, that could have been because she'd just spooned in a mouthful of stew and could not do much else with her tongue, let alone talk.

"There's no need to be bashful, Harry," said Frodo, looking at Harry with smiling eyes. Harry was taken aback by that, as well as the mischief in his smile, all of which still didn't help her understand what in Merlin's name they were on about.

Merry continued, "Gandalf told Aragorn before he fell, Harry. You don't have to pretend to keep us comfortable. We don't mind. Go on, have some wine!"

Harry concluded that this particular hobbit must be stark raving bonkers.

"Umm . . . what exactly did Gandalf tell you?" queried Harry after swallowing her first bit of stew, even as she accepted the wine this time around. It was surprisingly good, maybe she should drink wine more often.

"Well," said Pippin slowly, lighting up a newly produced pipe, and giving it a few experimental puffs.

"We know all the immortal races are older than they appear to be. Just look at Legolas over there."

Harry proceeded to choke on the second bite of stew she had put in her mouth when she took a breath to speak too soon. She was helped to swallow by Sam, who pounded on her back with both fists. Harry discovered then that hobbits were quite strong, and could be known to bruise on occasion.

"I'm fine Sam, but, uh, thanks anyway," Harry rasped out. She took another sip of wine to soothe her throat. "Erm, Pippin, why would you think I'm immortal? I'm not an elf."

"But you are a wizard," Aragorn insisted.

"Wizards are immortal," added Legolas, but he had cocked his head and was scrutinizing Harry, "at least in Middle Earth. You mean to tell us you're not?"

"I'm not," said Harry simply. "I mean, we _do _live longer than ordinary people because of the magic in our blood, maybe two hundred fifty years for the common wizard," Harry added, thinking back to the veritably _ancient _wizard examiners that came to test the fifth years on their OWLS. They had spoken of having done the same to Dumbledore, and if Dumbledore, as Harry knew, was one hundred and fifty years old, then the examiners must be at least twice that.

Harry unsheathed her wand to the curiosity of the rest of the Fellowship and charmed her wine to be un-ending; there was no point in drinking all their precious alcohol when she could just stretch out what she already had. Gimli especially looked awed that her cup was still full even after several hearty gulps.

"Some of us live longer, of course," Harry continued, winking as she charmed Gimli's cup as well. "I once received a birthday party invitation from a fellow in his five hundreds, and one of my teachers studied under a gentleman that was six hundred sixty-five before he died. But we're not immortal and I'm hardly much older than I look; I hadn't even turned sixteen yet when I arrived," Harry told them, then took another bite of her stew once she was sure it was safe to do so.

"Not yet sixteen years? You're yet a babe!" Pippin exclaimed, looking Harry over with keener eyes than before. Harry shifted uncomfortably at the re-assessing looks she received. She held her cup closer to her body since she wouldn't put it past some of the more responsible ones – Aragorn and Legolas, most likely – to take her drink from her now that they knew she _really was _not old enough to drink.

"We've had a child with us this entire time?" Boromir muttered under his breath. He looked put out. "Couldn't be more than twelve summers or there about, if we're judging by looks."

"I don't know how long I've been here but I'm sure I've reached sixteen already," Harry frowned. There was no need for him to exaggerate so much. She was short and skinny, yes, but she didn't think she looked prepubescent. "I'm hardly a baby, wizards of my kind come of age at seventeen."

"Why so early? That's almost the same as the race of Men here," Merry interjected.

"I'm not sure exactly why, though were used to live among the muggles long ago, so that might be the reason." A thought occurred to her. "'Early'? What do you mean early? When did _you _come of age?"

"Hobbits come of age at thirty-three," Sam was the first to answer.

"Thirty-three?" the wizard echoed incredulously. "How long do you live for you to be considered a child until then? How old are all of _you_?"

"Hobbits usually live around one hundred years," Merry said, getting nods from the others. "Which is why you, long-lived being you are, are the odd one here. With the way you mother us, one would think _we _were the children here."

"Do you mean to tell me you're all older than thirty-three? You barely look older than I am!"

"I beg your pardon," Pippin retorted, adopting a look of mock severity. "That is no way to speak to your elders, young wizard. The only baby face among us is Frodo," – this prompted a "Here, now!" from said hobbit – "and even he looks distinguishably older than you."

Harry lifted her nose in the air, imitating the look Haldir regularly gave her. "No need to get snarly just because I'm young and good-looking and you're not."

Pippin made a scoffing sound but left it at that.

No one said anything for a while after that, distracted as they were by their meal, until Aragorn finally spoke. "How is it you have such powerful magic, and be so young? How can a mortal body sustain so much power?"

Harry didn't know the proper answer to that and for the millionth time wished Hermione or someone else intelligent was there with her because she was sure Hermione would have started rattling off a complicated theory on physical limitations or wizarding physiology and such.

Alas, her friend wasn't here, so Harry made due. "I suppose it has to do with our innate magical core that actively maintains our health. Every wizard where I'm from is born with one –a core, I mean – and it only grows stronger as we age because the magical core is a natural part of our bodies, like any limb."

She paused that Aragorns thoughtful expression. "Should I assume it's not the same here?"

"I know not if the Istari of this world would describe their powers in such a way. You simply made it sound rather mundane."

Harry hummed and continued. "With our magic healing our bodies and protecting us from illness, added on top of it growing stronger as we age, we're more durable and last longer than our non-magical counterparts."

"You make it sound as if your power has a mind of it's own," Frodo said. "You say it heals you and keeps you from harm without you actively guiding it?"

"It is sentient to a degree," Harry confirmed. "When at rest, my magic will respond to my instincts to fight for life. It keeps my healthy and whole as long it can, since natural instinct make me want to live as long as I can."

"Well, boy-o!" Gimli growled suddenly, making the hobbits and Harry jump. His cheeks looked flushed. Oh, dear, maybe she shouldn't have charmed his wine un-ending after all. "I for one, am glad you are not immortal. Enough of them prancing about as it is! Of course, I mean no offense, Master Elf. For you, I make an exception." Gimli waved his newly lit pipe in Legolas' direction. The elf smirked back, clearly amused.

The topic soon turned to other things as Pippin discovered a mushroom in Harry's bowl and became offended because he hadn't known there were mushrooms in the stew to begin with. But that turned out to be a one off, as Pippin found out when he tried to dig for more in the pot. Harry was obliged, out of pity at the sorrowful little face, to give him hers, then watched as he and Merry fought over it.

Now that everyone's attention was on other things, Harry could freely examine the one silent spectator of the group. Boromir, Harry noticed, was looking particularly peaky today, and Harry had a nasty feeling she knew why as she observed the Gondorian glance discreetly at Frodo every now and then.

Harry suddenly felt a deep respect for Boromir. For all the stories she had heard of the Ring, and how powerful it was, Boromir had to have a strong will to resist it, especially when the Ring was manipulating him by using his love of Gondor and the duty he had to his country. And it was clearly giving it all it had, but Boromir still hadn't cracked yet. Such strength of character was admirable especially when stuck between a rock and a hard place.

The deep rush of loathing Harry experienced toward the Ring at that moment was enough to alarm her. She'd never felt such hatred beyond Voldemort. Such strong emotion was better left boxed up in the Ring's presence.

"What does the Lady speak of, Harry?" Aragorn's voice brought Harry's attention back to the proceedings and away from Boromir. Aragorn's question brought to mind Harry's promise to herself about not excluding the Fellowship anymore. She hated the fact that she would have to break that promise now. She couldn't exactly tell them that she had a mission in Middle Earth, or that the mission was Boromir.

"We just talked about how I was faring in Middle Earth, and how I can help improve my stay," she settled on. After all, it was the truth, though largely glossed over.

Aragorn seemed satisfied with that, and Pippin, having, at last, won the mushroom tug-of-war with Merry, turned to Harry and reminded her, with a mouthful of fungus, that she had yet to finish telling them about the dragons.

Harry, laughing, obliged.

* * *

**AN: **Tell me what pairings your want! Honestly, I might just keep it Gen. if I don't use the pairing I'm already considering but it'll be nice to know what ya'll think.


	9. So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen

**AN: **Thank you to those who submitted pairing ideas! It's amazing how popular Legolas is, though there were plenty of you crying out for some love for Boromir as well. I also have to say that my sense of equality is miffed that no one suggested Gimli; really, no one wanted to witness the fun-times that would occur in a Gimli/Harry? Are we all really so fearful of hair that we automatically disregard the dwarves as potential love interests? I'm sure there's at least one weirdo out there that has a kink for beards; why has no one written that story yet?

To those who said it (although it might have been one person and I read it several times by mistake), I agree that Boromir gets a bad rep for succumbing to the Ring when it was using his sense of honour and his duty to his country against him; I often feel irritated when talking to my friends about LoTR and inevitably one rags on him.

Thank you to the darlings that left me veritable essays as reviews. They always leave a smile on my face, especially when they give me ideas on how to better lay out the story.

Also, to the person that said that they didn't care for the way my Harry 'bashed' herself: I don't know how you behave when you do something you think extremely stupid on top of retrospectively coming up with better solutions to the problem you bungled up, but _I _personally wallow in the misery my own stupidity wrought me. This is how all my friends and family do as well, loudly exclaiming over how blind they were before, so I just assumed that such behaviour was understandable in a teenage girl. Harry, even in canon, is well known to put himself down, especially during the summer after Sirius' death, so I didn't even consider the possibility that I was laying on a bit too thick. It was not my intention to bash any character, Harry especially since I love Harry quite a bit.

A prompt to get your creative juices flowing: Harry attending a strategy meeting before the battle of Helmsdeep. Theoden and Eomer being their medieval monarchic selves. What happens?

**Chapter Nine: So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye.**

Loitering outside the hollow tree the Fellowship had been using as their sleeping quarters, a sort of hazy cloud lifted from Harry's thoughts, as if she was waking from a light doze. It was the oddest thing, that sense of vagueness. It was as if she had been dreaming all along but didn't remember laying down to sleep to begin with. The dreaminess of it all made the passing of their time spent in Lothlorien seem both unendingly long but also unsatisfyingly short, though she _did _remember counting the stretching days as she sat under the boughs of the _mallorn _trees. Now, for all her waiting, she couldn't recall how long they had been there. It was exceedingly perplexing.

Something else that was perplexing was the assemblage of elves seeing them off, bearing gifts, courtesy of the Lord and Lady, for each of them. As she took in the looks on their faces – genuinely beaming with happiness at being able to provide the Fellowship with some extra comfort on the impending journey – She decided that it would be more unkind than modest to tell them that she already had a magic cloak. Certainly, if she were to say that a cloak she already had was one that could make her entirely invisibly, rather than one that worked much like a disillusionment charm, as the elven cloaks did, it would just be ungrateful.

So she had accepted it, adorned it, and found that it fit her perfectly in addition to being quite warm and comfortable. She and most of others had been surprised to learn that the cloaks had been made to each of their exact measurements. Harry didn't bother to ask how the elves had worked that out; she assumed their excellent eyesight was the explanation, and left it at that.

Finally, it was time to leave and the elves seeing them off led them toward their boats. As they walked, Harry positioned herself in the place between Merry and Pippin, which was unfortunate because that put her in front Boromir, and she would have liked to observe the man. Sadly, it could not be helped because the two hobbits had asked her to walk with them, and she couldn't very well say no if only because refusing would hurt their feelings.

They trailed amongst their serene escorts, each feeling the sadness that their time in the Golden Wood had come to an end. For a while they had been in peace. The burdens they carried had not niggled at them half as strongly, and new friendships and understandings had formed.

Yes, they were each saddened to leave, Harry especially, because it meant she would soon be leaving the Fellowship behind. Just the night before, Boromir had stated his intention to go back to Minas Tirith, to see to his father, and Harry knew that she would have to follow. Every person in the Fellowship had look confused when Harry had said she wanted to go with him, thinking it very odd since they had thought that she would be seeing the Ring to Mordor with them.

Harry had used the excuse of needing to see more of Middle Earth, and that going with Boromir might be her only chance. The only people who hadn't said anything to that were Galadriel and Celeborn.

As the Fellowship watched the crystal-clear water trickle through the little stone fountain, Harry's least favourite person in Middle Earth strolled across the lawn toward them. Harry had time only to give a mental sneer at Haldir before she spotted something on the elf's shoulder that caused her to abandon any nasty thoughts she had been harbouring.

"Hedwig!" she cried in delight, not even bothering to question how chummy the owl was looking with the elf.

Hedwig, hearing Harry's voice, abandoned Haldir's arm without hesitation and flapped her wings until Harry finally caught her and cuddled her friend gently against her chest. She wasn't in the least bit surprised by the rush of relief and joy that filled her at the sight of Hedwig; she was Harry's only bit of home here.

Haldir greeted almost everyone with obvious delight. "I have returned from the Northern Fences, and am sent to be your guide again. The Dimrill Dale is full of vapour and clouds of smoke, and the mountains are troubled. There are noises in the deeps of the earth. If any of you had thought of returning northwards to your homes you would not have been able to pass that way."

He stopped before Harry and cocked his head in a curious manner. "Your owl found my post and stayed all of a month with me," he admitted, his lips twisting in what looked like a reluctant smile. "She is a remarkable bird, courageous and bold, and so very intelligent. I now see why you value her. She made an excellent sentry. Even Orophin has admitted to it. She watched over us in the night."

Harry felt all the tension drain out of her after hearing that. She had been sure Haldir would have said something derogatory; it had surprised her that he hadn't.

The elf reached over and gently stroked Hedwig's snowy head. "I shall miss her night music."

Harry nodded, understanding how easy it was to become fond of Hedwig. Resolving to put away her resentment, she said, "I'll send a letter some time." In response to Haldir's frown of bewilderment, she added, "Hedwig is a messenger owl."

Haldir inclined his head gracefully. A grudging, temporary truce had been non-verbally established.

They walked onwards for ten miles with Haldir leading them through the gentle, green slopes of Caras Galadhon, until finally, after passing through a literal wall of grass, they reached their final destination. Across the river's bank, Harry could see that no more _mallorn _trees grew. Instead, ordinary trees had taken their place. A group of elves were standing in a few white boats, floating on the water. Harry noted with satisfaction that the boats were packed provisions.

In addition to the generous amount of traveling provisions was rope, the same sort that the ladder Harry had climbed on her first venture into Lothlorien had been made from, as well as the rope she had crossed the rushing river with. They were lightweight and silvery. The elves explained that no one sane could travel far without a rope, especially one that wasn't of elven make. Then they and Sam got into a short and bewildering discussion on its physical properties.

Harry was strongly reminded of Professor Sprout's Herbology class.

Then, they set off.

Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam were in one boat; Boromir, Merry, and Pippin in another; in the third were Legolas, Gimli, and Harry. Harry would have liked to share a boat with Pippin and Merry, but since he and the hobbits couldn't hope to know how to paddle or steer the craft, especially with the Silverlode's swift current, they had to make do.

It was as they turned a sharp bend in the river that music was heard, floating gently with the breeze. They saw three large swan-like boats by the river's banks. In the boats were Celeborn, decked out in kingly style, a crown of white gold adorning his blonde head and Galadriel, strumming a harp and singing more beautifully than even Legolas could. On the land behind the boats were yet more elves, standing regally at attention.

Aragorn drew his boat alongside Galadriel's swan. "We have come to bid our last farewell," she said, "And to speed you with blessings from our land."

"Though you have been our guests," said Celeborn, "you have not eaten with us, and we bid you, therefore, to a parting feast, here between the flowing waters that will bear you far from Lorien."

Everyone was very agreeable to this suggestion, and soon found themselves out of the boats and eating a delicious feast of fruit, bread, salad, venison and other meats, and drinking sweet, cold water out of large, golden jugs.

Harry tipped five jugs of the water into her drinking flask, feeling proud that she remembered that there would be no fresh water in the wilderness. She received a couple of strange looks from the elves sitting nearest to her – most likely wondering where all the water had gone to – but she paid them no attention. Continuing with her new found realization of how little luxury there was in the wild, Harry spooned servings from the platters in front of her into bowls from her tent and dropped them into her food pouch as her fellow feasters looked on in fascination, though they tried to be covert.

Though she still had a _lot_ of the food Dumbledore had given her left, it was good to know she had even more now. Besides, if their journey turned out to be even longer than she already suspected it would be, it would not be particularly pleasant to hunt for her food, or to eat Sam's sausages, or to chew the _lembas _bread day in day out, no matter how good it tasted.

After the feast, they gathered on the grass in a circle, with Celeborn and Galadriel seating themselves on two small chairs. "Before you go," said Galadriel, "I have brought in gifts which the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim now offer you in memory of Lothlorien." Then she called them each to come forward.

Aragorn received a sheath for his sword and a stone of some sort that he pinned at once to his shirt. Boromir acquired a belt made of gold; Merry and Pippin got belts as well except theirs were way smaller and silvery green in colour with little leaf designs.

Harry, gratefully though not without hesitation, accepted an elven sword, all shining blade and gilded hilt. Now, what to do with it? She didn't have experience in wielding swords beyond the stint in her second year with the basilisk. She did acknowledge though, that the fact that she had a large, pointy object that others knew to be potentially dangerous made up for the lingering concern over whether she would end up doing herself more harm than to enemies. Besides, how hard could it be anyway? The pointy end goes in the other guy; that's all that really mattered.

Harry and the Lady Galadriel shared a subtle glance as Harry looked over her sword, Harry looking on in speculation, Galadriel in amused respect. Ever since the day Harry had spent the afternoon with the elf queen, she had been the recipient of the questionable amusement of Galadriel. Harry still had absolutely no idea what had happened to bring it on; they had been discussing the differences between Middle Earth and the world Harry was from when Galadriel had paused mid sentence while explaining the history of the elves in a manner that fascinated her, that made Harry think of Ron accusing her of turning into a girl just like Hermione.

Galadriel's eyes had widened ever so slightly, and she had given Harry a once-over, as if she had realized something she hadn't noticed before. When questioned, the lady only laughed, saying it was nothing really. However, it was obviously _not _nothing, seeing as whatever the something was, Galadriel had yet to stop being amused by it.

Harry resolved to figure the puzzle out at her soonest convenience, so probably much later, after the Ring was taken care of. But she would still figure it out, that she swore to herself as she inclined her head to the king and queen in gratitude and made way for the next person in line.

Legolas became the delighted owner of a brand new bow and a quiver of arrows, such as the ones the Lothlorien elves used. Sam obtained a box of dirt for whatever reason, and Gimli, to the surprise of all, asked only for a lock of hair from Galadriel's golden head. She gave him three – a big deal, apparently.

Lastly, to Frodo, the elf queen gave . . . something. Harry didn't know what it was, only that it looked like water trapped in a fancy glass phial, but she did recognize that it was something important; something magical.

After that it was really time to leave. The Fellowship boarded their light, elven boats and made their way down the river once more, the farewelling tunes of the elves following in their wake.

Four days later, they still traveled along the river Anduin, now finding themselves in a virtually treeless land, and Harry swore to herself that she would never get on a boat again unless she absolutely had to. _Four _miserable days of cramped limbs and sea-sickness took away any enjoyment she might have gotten from the lovely scenery and peaceful air.

Harry had tried, a couple of times in the past nights, to talk to Boromir, as per Galadriel's orders, but it was growing apparent that the man either thought she was daft or mad, with the way he developed a look of such petulance after Harry told him the story about Ginny's experience with Tom Riddle's diary, and how the book had started controlling her bit by bit, eventually almost killing her. Harry had not tried to explain more after that, in case she bungled everything to an even worse degree. On the plus side, though, she now had time to think of a less transparent example to use, as she suspected that was why Boromir had gotten so crabby in the first place.

Four more days passed. The surrounding country had changed yet again, this time harbouring a forest of lush trees. On the night of the eighth day from their departure from Lothlorien, Aragorn decided they had to move on earlier instead of waiting for the morning. In Aragorn's boat, at the front of the group, Sam was appointed as the watchman on the look out for protruding rocks. It was around midnight when Sam finally spotted something. A few very large, very sharp somethings that would splinter their boats easily if they paddled in that direction.

Aragorn shouted a warning to them to start paddling to the banks as fast and as hard as they could. It wasn't easy with the way the current had picked up, and there were only so many paddles to a boat. Frodo, Sam, and Aragorn wouldn't have made it at all if Harry hadn't shielded their boat right before it crashed into the rocks.

On the bank, no one had time to feel relief from their near escape of a watery death before a volley of arrows came at them, made even harder to see in of the night gloom. One nearly pierced Frodo, but was repelled back immediately. Without further thought, everyone threw themselves to the ground.

"_Yrch_!" spat Legolas, looking furious.

"Orcs," Gimli translated, looking just as outraged.

More arrows flew overhead. Across the bank, on the other side, Harry could make out black shapes scattering here and there. Shrill, guttural cries sounded in the blackness.

Suddenly, Legolas jumped up and grabbed his new bow, glowing and looking very much like the male veela Harry had originally thought he had been in the dark. He stood at the edge of the bank, his bow strung, searching furiously for any mark to shoot at.

A dark gloom overcame them then. Something enormous and black had blocked out the moon, fending off its light. Harry saw Frodo clutch his chest as if in pain. She herself felt a coldness curl around senses and she shivered unconsciously, remembering Gandalf telling her about the Dementor-like wraiths. She tightened her grip on her wand, and let her gaze search the skies.

"_Elbereth Gilthoniel,"_ Legolas sighed, and looked up. Even as he did so, Harry could just make out a large, winged creature. The voices across the river grew louder as it approached.

Swiftly, Legolas positioned his bow at the sky and let loose an arrow. It must have hit whatever winged creature was there because there was a harsh, croaking scream, and a thundering _thump_. After that, Harry could no longer hear orc voices anymore, or see any arrows pierce the night. The unsettling coldness had disappeared along with the creature's death.

They weren't attacked anymore that night, not the next day when they took off again. Harry had seen something unbelievable, though. Something she had not thought a medieval world would have the – to put it bluntly – brains, or technology to build. That's what she gets for being dismissive of seemingly backwards people. She knew that they were not to be underestimated.

Two large kings on either side of the wide river had stood tall and proud, their hands positioned in either a "Stop, you're not welcome" or a "Ho there, friend!" gesture. Aragorn had called it the Argornath, and explained that they were his kin. Harry had been utterly amazed at the grandeur, depth of history, and meaning of such colossal monuments. Merciful Merlin, the time and effort that must have been put into them! Nothing she had ever seen before could to compare to it.

Aragorn continued to lead them onwards for another ten miles until they reached the end of the river, coming upon a huge waterfall. By its banks they finally clambered out, lugging their supplies behind them. Harry had never been more glad to stretch her legs, and she was certain she wasn't the only one with a sore bum; she spotted Gimli grouching moodily and massaging his rear-end.

Harry sunk down on the ground next to Pippin, moaning at the shot of pain the action gave her. Resolutely, she gamely tried to ignored her aches, and helped Sam unpack the lunch supplies.

Gimli was still grouching after Sam had a nice meal going, this time at Aragorn. "Oh, yes?" he said in a way that made Harry think it wasn't supposed to be interpreted as a question. "We just go through Emyn Muil. An impassable labyrinth of razor, sharp rocks. And after that, it gets even better! Festering, stinking marshlands, as far as the eyes can see."

Pippin froze in mid-chew.

"That is our road," said Aragorn with a touch of impatience. "I suggest you get some rest and recover your strength Master Dwarf."

Gimli sputtered. "Recover my . . .? _Pohh_!" He chucked his axe on the ground.

Pippin and Harry sniggered.

Just then, Merry, who had been sent off to collect firewood, came back. He looked around the camp, the bundle of twigs still in his arms. "Where's Frodo?" he asked Aragorn.

Sam sat up from the tree he'd been leaning on, looking around wildly. By the expression on Aragorn's face as he looked towards the shield that was propped innocently against a tree, Harry did not need to ask whom else had disappeared. In alarm, she jumped up, surprising everyone with her hasty action. "Merlin!" she cried, and dashed off into the trees, ignoring Aragorn's earnest cry behind him.

After less than a minute of running wildly, Harry realised she was running in no particular direction, and that she would never find Frodo and Boromir if she did not at least pick a direction. If only Hedwig hadn't gone hunting; harry could have used her eyes eyes. Maybe she should have waited for Aragorn? The man knew how to track footprints. If only she could . . . Harry gasped at the realization of such an obvious solution.

Quickly, she drew her wand and placed it flat on her palm. "_Point me_, Boromir."

It spun wildly for a moment until it froze, pointing to her right, telling her that she hadn't even been going in the right direction. Swearing creatively, Harry wheeled around and full out sprinted across the ground. She only hoped she was not too late, and that Boromir hadn't managed to catch up to Frodo yet.

As she closed in on her target, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of swords clanging. Of all the damned things! A battle was taking place, with Boromir right in the middle, and Harry was not there to protect him!

She burst into the clearing only seconds later but halted to a full stop at the sight before her. She couldn't fully comprehend the sight in front of her eyes. Orcs, but yet _not _orcs. Huge orcs; even uglier than ordinary ones, running towards Boromir, who was deflecting jabs in every direction from wicked looking swords that came at him. Behind him, and safe for the moment, stood Merry and Pippin, watching in silent horror.

Boromir raised his horn to his lips and blew, the sound echoing through the hills.

It was then that Harry snapped to action, viable plans churning around in her head. She knew it would useless to try the sun spell, as these new breed of orcs were clearly not at all bothered by the sun. She briefly considered using the Killing Curse but immediately discarded the idea before the thought was even fully formed in her mind, knowing that for all that it would be supremely effective, she wasn't capable of such a spell. Working through instinct, she flung over-powered defensive spells at every moving target she saw.

So Harry found herself leaping into the fray a few meters away from Boromir, lashing out with a veritable tidal wave of stunners, knock-backs, immobilizers, full-body binds, and disarmers like a madwoman. Orcs were lifted off their feet and blasted into trees; swords were ripped out of claw-like hands by an invisible force, and flung dangerously about; blackened bodies stiffened in permanent surprise before falling over . . . It was chaos! Utter bizarre chaos that no one, not the orcs, Boromir, Merry, Pippin, nor even Harry could work out.

"STAB THEM!" Harry shouted to Merry and Pippin, indicating the orc that lay frozen. "THEY AREN'T DEAD! JUST KNOCKED OUT!"

They looked at her as though they had only just realised she was a wizard.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" she roared at them, flinging another orc backwards onto the sword of his comrade.

They jumped and nodded, moving quickly with their swords raised. The hobbits made short work of the helpless orcs while Harry and Boromir continued to fight, keeping the remaining orcs from reaching the hobbits. The creatures just didn't know what to make of Harry. A few of them, wisely, kept their distance – not that it helped much, because her spells could cover great distances – and others, stupidly, moved to attack her, only to get a stunner for their efforts – and a sword in their backs soon after, courtesy of a hobbit.

Harry was so involved in fighting the orcs that she missed the thick, black arrow launch itself straight into Boromir's right arm. She could not, however, miss the hiss of pain that erupted from the Gondorian's mouth, or the clatter of the sword as it fell from his grasp, the pain in his arm being too great to hold it up, or either it had damaged some nerves.

Harry whirled, scanning her surroundings. There were about a dozen orcs left that weren't dead, but now, after seeing what Harry had done to their brethren, they were loath to approach her or Boromir. Finally, she spotted the offending orc that had shot the arrow. It was just about the ugliest looking thing she had ever seen.

"Get the Halflings!" it shouted. "Kill the brat!"

It had to repeat itself once more since the orcs, still looking warily at Harry, didn't move to follow the order at first. They finally did move, just as the head orc strung another arrow. Harry tossed out Freezing Jinxes, slowing two arrows down, before quickly casting a shield at Boromir. She only just made it; the arrow had been continued on to its target, but it only pinged harmlessly to the side as it struck the shield charm.

The head orc roared in confused frustration, and Boromir offered Harry a grateful look.

As Harry turned back to the battle, she discovered that she had taken too long in assisting Boromir. She found herself with a face full of smelly orc as one of them plowed into her, dragging her down, crushing her with its heavy body, and causing her wand to go flying.

_CRACK!_

"AAAAGH!" Harry shouted hoarsely as she landed awkwardly on her left ankle, breaking it.

The orc moved wildly above her, smothering her with its weight. Harry could feel its putrid breath on her face, and she struggled frantically, bucking and hitting and clawing, but nothing could get it off.

It cackled unpleasantly. "I'm gunna strangle you and put yer 'ead on a pike!" it told her before wrapping its filthy hands around her neck.

Harry gasped desperately, clawing at the hands choking her.

Then the orc stiffened. Guttural, gasping sounds came from its mouth before it keeled over, right on top of Harry. Above them stood a panting Boromir, sword clutched tightly in his left hand. In his right was Harry's wand. He placed a booted foot on the orc's back and pushed. The body flopped beside her, very dead.

"Thanks," Harry rasped, rubbing at the now tender flesh of her throat.

Boromir inclined his head. "Can you stand?"

Harry leaned her head to the side in consideration. "If I had help – _WATCH OUT_!"

Boromir performed a sort of ducking pirouette just as Harry snatched her wand up. But this time she was too late. A second arrow hit Boromir right in the upper-chest area. The man opened his mouth but no sound came out. He stared at Harry, blinking uncomprehendingly.

Harry looked on in horror. No, he couldn't die! She couldn't have failed! Boromir had to live!

But how could they have forgotten about the head orc?

The world around Harry watched in utter silence as the creature now ran toward them in seeming triumph. She could only look on her fallen charge with stricken horror. It didn't register in her mind that all the other orcs were long gone and that Merry and Pippin were missing. It didn't register that Boromir could be dying at this very moment. It didn't register when Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas skidded into the clearing. All Harry could think on was the despair that filled her. That she had failed once again in protecting a friend, and that that friend was going to die – because of her.

A painful groan that escaped Boromir's bloodied lips snapped her out of her frozen state.

"_EVERTE STATUM!_" She shouted, putting all of her anger and confusion and loathing she had into that one spell. The orc, now having arrived two feet away from Harry, flew back at break-neck speed instantly, in a flash of brilliant red light, blasting twenty meters across the clearing before crashing into a mound of boulders. It laid still, its neck positioned at an unnatural angle.

It was dead.

Harry turned hastily to Boromir just as Aragorn ran over to them, coming to a halt by the other man's side. She pulled closer to the bleeding body, tears of desperation burning the back of her eyes. Legolas and Gimli kept a few feet away.

"They took the little ones," said Boromir, a tremble in his voice.

"Stay still," Aragorn told him. He gently prodded the arrow shafts that stuck morbidly out of Boromir's body. Boromir winced at the motion but did not protest.

"H-he's not going to . . . is he? " Harry couldn't bring herself to actually voice the word.

Aragorn threw her a cursory glance. "If we can remove the arrows in time, he might yet live."

"It is all right, young wizard," rasped Boromir, his face turning awfully pale. "If I go, at least I know I have fought for a noble cause." His breathing grew ragged.

"Legolas!" Aragorn shouted. The elf was there immediately. "Gimli." The dwarf soon followed. "I will need you to hold him down."

They both nodded grimly.

Suddenly, Boromir clutched Aragorn's shoulder. "Where is Frodo?"

Aragorn searched Boromir with an understanding gaze. "I let Frodo go," he whispered.

"Then you did what I could not!"

Aragorn looked down briefly, then moved to grasp the arrows.

"Leave it!" Boromir implored. "It is over. I deserve it!"

Aragorn frowned, not understanding.

"I tried to take the ring from Frodo," Boromir admitted, sobbing. "Forgive me. I did not see."

Harry's heart clenched at the confession. She was doing such a piss poor job at her mission! Her charge was in mortal peril and now she was finding out that she hadn't even been able to keep Boromir from going after the ring. If only the powers that be chose someone different to be Boromir's salvation; he deserved a lot better than Harry and her blundering.

"No, Boromir," Aragorn disagreed. "You fought bravely. You have regained your honour."

Boromir continued to pant horribly, and Harry could not believe what she was witnessing. They were talking as if – no! Boromir couldn't die like this. It was too demeaning of a death. If Madam Promfrey was there, the arrows would be out already, the wounds completely healed, and the Gondorian resting in a comfortable sleep. It couldn't end this way. It just couldn't!

Aragorn motioned to Gimli and Legolas with a nod of his head, still clutching Boromir's hand. Gimli slumped down across the man's chest while Legolas sat on his legs.

Aragorn's hand curled around the arrow in Boromir's chest. "I will count thrice," he said and Boromir nodded wildly. Aragorn took a deep breath –

"Wait," Harry protested. They were just going to yank it out? But that would be slow and dangerous! What if the head caught on something on the way? He could bleed to death. It was inhumane. If Madame Pomfrey – but she wasn't here, so maybe _Harry _could – ?

Aragorn shook his head, not looking at her. "Harry, it must be done, and must be done quickly!"

"I know," Harry agreed, what she needed to do quickly coming to mind. "But there's another way. A less painful way. A better way."

This got their attention. Aragorn asked, "What way?"

"I could – that is, it might be better if I . . . I just need to look through a book of mine. It won't take even half a minute. Is that too long?"

Aragorn gaped, but it was Boromir that answered. "Search," he croaked.

"Right," Harry nodded. Then she went through the motions of unshrinking her trunk, rummaging around until she found _Standard Book of Spells: Grade Five_, and flipping the pages until she located the healing charm she was searching for. Harry had never attempted this charm before, mostly because it hadn't been required of her to learn, but recently because she never had cause to practice it.

_The Flesh Knitting Charm, (Incantation: _Manderus Clapsia_) can be used for healing major flesh wounds. However, it is not recommended for OWL Level as the caster requires a considerable amount of concentration on his or her part, due to the fact that an unfocussed mind will result in the wounds opening even more, causing the patient to bleed to death . . ._

Well, she had finished her OWLS a few months ago so it stood to reason that it was perfectly safe for her to use this spell. She just needed to clear her mind and be focused. Right, she could do that. What did it matter that 'clearing her mind' was the exact same thing Snape had harped on about to her during their Occlumency lessons?

Harry closed her eyes and determinedly tried to think of nothing. She didn't know if it was working or not, but when she opened her eyes again, Harry was filled with a familiar determination that made her feel it was possible to accomplish anything.

"I'm ready," she said to Aragorn, crawling even closer next to Boromir, and trying to ignore the sharp, twisting pain in her ankle.

"We will continue to hold him," said Legolas. Gimli grunted his concurrence.

Harry gave them a grateful nod. "Alright," she breathed. "Alright. It has to be done quickly. Okay. Okay. _Accio _arrow!"

Boromir jerked violently – Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli holding on – as the shaft whooshed out of his left shoulder with a horrible squelching noise that made Harry sick and into her waiting hand. "Sorry," she whispered as she tossed the arrow away reflexively before weaved her wand through the air above the wound. "_Manderus Clapsia_," she mumbled with what she hoped sounded like conviction.

A soft blue light shimmered out of her wand, smelling faintly of mint. It enveloped Boromir's shoulder completely, pulsing from light blue to a darker shade in time with his heartbeat. As the light faded and vanish, so did the wound.

Harry wanted to sigh in relief as well as jump for joy. She had saved her friend's life on top of finally preforming proper magic on her first go at a new spell. A mindlessly giddy part of her wondered if this was how Hermione felt every time she stepped into a classroom.

Boromir looked astonished, as though he had thought anything Harry could have done would have been for naught. He flexed his arm experimentally. "Nothing," he breathed. "There is no pain."

Aragorn grinned and clasped Harry's shoulder. "You have done well, young Istar."

Harry beamed her joy, feeling proud that she had gained Aragorn's approval. Then she made quick work of the other wound, which, fortunately, was not as serious. When Harry had finished, Boromir was almost as good as new, except that he was dead tired and could hardly stand on his feet.

Harry sat in an awkward position at the foot of everyone's legs. As a slightly swaying Boromir was being held up between Legolas and Gimli, exhaustion settled on Harry, making her mind a bit fuzzy. She felt almost drunk.

Aragorn knelt down by Harry, examining her foot.

"_Ah!_" she gasped when Aragorn prodded a particularly painful area.

"I am sorry." Aragorn stared at her. "Can you not heal yourself using magic?"

Harry felt a trickle of sweat course down the side of her cheek. Of all the times to not be of any use! "No," she said tightly. "I don't know how to mend broken bones."

Aragorn looked grim. "I shall have to set your ankle. It will be painful."

Harry nodded. She knew a bone-setting spell, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember the incantation. "Do it."

"Gimli!" Aragorn called.

The dwarf extracted his arm from around Boromir's waist, leaving Legolas with job of keeping him up, and seized hold of Harry's arms, clutching them tightly to his side. "It'll be right, boy-o," he gruffed, his eyes surprisingly warm.

Aragorn grasped a gentle hold of Harry's ankle and nodded, silently asking for permission. Harry nodded back. Aragorn executed a sharp twist.

"AAAAAAAAAHHH!" The exclamation of pain tore itself from behind Harry's clenched teeth and she fell back, panting in blinding pain and exhaustion. She didn't even notice when Gimli released her arms.

"Gimli, hand me Harry's sword."

Harry felt hands on the belt at her waist and heard a scraping noise as her sword was removed from its sheath. "What are you doing?" she asked Aragorn weakly.

"Your ankle needs support to mend. The sword will be that support," he explained. "I will need cloth."

Aragorn shrugged out of his Lothlorien cloak. Harry saw he was about to cut it up. "No! I have plenty of shirts in my trunk. And maybe we should find a sturdy stick instead? We might need that sword at some point."

Aragorn nodded his agreement, sending Gimli off to hack up a thin tree branch, and moved to search through Harry's trunk, finally producing one of Dudley's checked elephant shirts. Harry's head flopped back in exhaustion, now almost completely drained. She heard slicing, tearing sounds. Seconds later, she felt the smoothness of a shaved stick against her bare ankle and leg, then the warmth of cloth surrounding it. She hadn't even realised until then that Aragorn must have taken her shoe off.

The next second, she was being prodded to full awareness.

"We must leave Harry," said Aragorn, looming over her. "Could you make your crate small again?"

Harry nodded, lifted her trembling wand arm, and tapped the trunk._"Substrictus Minimus."_

Then she was being lifted in strong arms and carried gently away. She didn't notice where, nor did she really care. She was feeling quite comfortable, despite the pain in her ankle, so comfortable that she stopped fighting her exhaustion and succumbed to a much needed sleep.

Harry awoke just as Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas were packing away equipment onto the elven boats. Boromir was lying next to her, resting in a light doze. Harry herself did not feel that she had slept for a terribly long time.

Aragorn came to squat in front of her, tossing his hair with a jerk of his head. "Good, you have woken. Here." He handed Harry her miniature trunk, then pointed to Legolas and Gimli. "We three will follow the Uruk-hai that have captured Merry and Pippin. We have decided that you and Boromir shall stay here. He is too worn in body to follow now, and you have a broken limb. You will look after each other. He will see to you once he has rested aplenty. When you are well and able again, you will travel to Minas Tirith with Boromir. This Boromir has agreed to, even though he would have liked to follow in the Uruks path and finish the battle he had started."

Harry just stared, not knowing what to think. "Um," she said finally, after getting an absolutely brilliant idea. "I suppose this'll be a good time to mention I have some Invigoration Draught in my pouch."

Aragorn looked curious. "What sort of draught did you say?"

"Invigoration Draught. Maybe some Pepper-Up Potion as well. They'll give you a boost of energy; Pepper-Up even cures minor sicknesses. If we give some to Boromir, he can go with – "

Aragorn shook his head. "What of you, then? No, he cannot – "

"But I can come too!" The ranger stared at her as though he thought she was completely insane, looking pointedly at her broken ankle. "I mean, I can fly! I have a broom."

Aragorn's expression cleared. Then he grinned, chuckling. "So you do. I had forgotten." He stood up. "We shall go together then. You shall give Boromir the spice potion, and trail after the orcs on your . . . broom." He shook his head in bemusement, his eyes trailing over Harry's form. "A very strange wizard has come upon us. But a very valuable one as well."

"Aragorn," Harry asked after realizing something. "Where are Frodo and Sam?"

The man's expression darkened. "They are on the eastern shore. They are left to themselves now."

"What!"

"They follow their own path," Aragorn explained patiently. "They must, else the ring tempts another to its cause."

Harry nodded in understanding. A hoot sounded from the space above them. He and Aragorn looked up to see Hedwig perched in the tree. She smiled sadly, suddenly knowing what she had to do.

"Come here, lovey," she beckoned to Hedwig and the owl fluttered down on the ground next to her. Harry removed the food pouch from her belt, then enlarged her trunk and pulled out a bottle of ink, one quill, and a few parchments.

Aragorn came to squat beside her once more, staring with unabashed interest. "What do are you doing?"

Harry stared hopefully at the ranger, before presenting him with a corner of the parchment, as well as a quill and ink bottle. "I'm going to give Frodo and Sam a barrel's worth of food and drink, as well as a way to communicate with us. Could you write a short letter explaining to them what it's all for, and that Hedwig can be used to deliver post to me, or to whomever they want?"

If Aragorn was stunned or amazed by Harry's request, he didn't show it. Instead, he set about doing what Harry had asked him to. When Aragorn finished, Harry took back the quill and ink bottle, and the rest of the remaining parchment, and tipped it into the pouch. This, along with Aragorn's letter, she tied to each of Hedwig's legs.

Harry placed Hedwig on her forearm, wondering if she'd every see her faithful companion again. Then she scolded herself for being melodramatic; if any nasty business went down, Hedwig would be the most likely to survive it. "Take this to Frodo and Sam, Hedwig. Stay with them always, unless they need to send us a message. Protect them like you would protect me, okay?"

Hedwig hooted softly and nipped Harry's nose with her beak before she launched off, nearly scraping Legolas's head as she passed the riverbank. Fortunately for him, the elf ducked in the last second. Gimli was chuckling.

"That was a very noble thing you did, Harry," said Aragorn quietly.

"I suppose so," Harry agreed.

Aragorn stood once more. "Come, we must wake Boromir."

Twenty minutes later they were all ready to leave, Boromir having just drunk the Pepper-Up and proclaiming he had never felt so hearty in his life. Harry still sat, palming her Firebolt, which lay across her lap. It was time to go.

Boromir and Gimli grasped each of her arms and hefted her up so that she stood awkwardly, balancing precariously on one leg. Harry positioned her broom so that it rested under her bottom before nodding at them to let her go. As they eased their grips, she kicked off softly from the ground.

Even Legolas could not contain his amazement at finally seeing for himself a broomstick that hovered waist-height in the air and a person seated upon it as if it were a horse.

"Ready when you are," Harry grinned cheekily before _SWOOSH!_

The Firebolt had the capability to accelerate at one hundred and ten miles per hour. It was likely that her companions had never seen anything go that fast, and they jumped back in shocked surprise as she suddenly launched herself almost vertically into the air. In a few seconds, Harry could not even make them out anymore.

She peered down at the landscape. She was really too far up to see anything, let alone a party of ant-like orcs that must have traveled some way by now. She would have to go back down.

Harry descended at an incline. She would have preferred to travel down in a Wronski Feint, but she didn't think her ankle could take the pressure of the wind. Harry lowered the broom until she just skimmed the topmost branches of the trees. Some meters below her stood Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir.

"Most impressive, child!" called Gimli. "Now we have an advantage over the Uruk-Hai." The rest murmured in agreement.

"Indeed, you can scout ahead. Now, let us hunt some orc!" Aragorn cried before running up the slope.

The rest, including Harry, followed.


End file.
